A Pocket Full Of Posies
by Deany-Elle
Summary: Amelia lives in a world where love and affection are not apart of her daily routine. When she arrives at Baker Street she finds that life is so much more than the one she has lived. But is it really different from the her life in Whitechapel?
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER**

_I do not own "Sherlock Holmes" or any characters presented in this story (except a few originals of my own creation), they are rightfully the property of Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle. _

**Author's Note**

_I have tried my best to keep content accurate between the dates 1888 and 1891. Some information regarding "Jack the Ripper" is fictionalised for the purposes of the story. If you find any mistakes please let me know and I will rectify the mistake in later chapters. I hope you enjoy this story. Constructive criticism is most appreciated._

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****Chapter One **

_1st__ October 1888_

The sun shone over the chimney tops of Whitechapel. Although it brought none of it's warmth. The general public were on edge as the double murder of two women had been committed the night before, believed to be the work of notorious serial killer "Jack the Ripper". Scotland Yard had been working tirelessly since April and as of yet found no new leads. A young girl was sitting under the window in her bedroom. She was rather small and skinny for her age, had thick dark brown curly hair that fell to her shoulders and brown eyes which resembled autumn leaves. Her legs were pulled up to her chest, her head resting on her knees and her arms were wrapped around her legs. A floor board creaked. The child shuddered, unexpected noises made her nervous. Noises during the day are rational but when you are child home alone it is quite different. The front door opened and she heard the door slam. The girl stiffened. Slamming of the door was never a good sign.

"AMELIA? GET YOUR BACKSIDE DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!" Obediently Amelia rose from her sitting position and proceeded down the stairs. She opened the door to the kitchen where her father was and stood stock still waiting. "Where is my supper?" The voice was calm and thankfully sober. Amelia immediately felt as though she had been doused in icy cold water, she had completely forgotten about her father's supper.

"I…I…forgot." She said timidly. She didn't look her father in the face whilst she talked to him. For this was forbidden, so instead she looked at the floor.

"You forgot?" He inquired calmly. His calmness scared her, as she was uncertain of his actions. She fiddled with the bottom of her dress, waiting. His chair scraped and he advanced toward her. Amelia took an involuntary step backwards, fear overwhelming her. Silvery tears slid down her cheeks.

"I'm…I'm sorry sir…I…I…"

"Silence!" She fell silent immediately. There was a moments pause and he slapped her around the face, sending her reeling. He grabbed her hair and dragged her toward a small cupboard under the sink. He forced her inside and shut the door. Amelia heard the lock click and heard her father's voice whisper through the door. "Now you will be silent you worthless bitch or Mister Ripper will get you next." She shuddered, crying silently and rubbing the top of her cupboard was dark and unwelcoming. She felt a steady dripping on her head, the cupboard was damp and cold but she couldn't rearrange herself into a more comfortable position as the cupboard was small and unable to accommodate a seven-year-old.

"I want my mummy back." She thought and repressed a sniff, "Will I ever be happy? Or will I have to live with him forever?"

* * *

The sun was starting to set over the terraced houses of Baker Street. A chilly breeze rippled through the street, although no one was out to feel it. Sherlock Holmes was frowning, chewing the tip of his pipe. He wasn't confused, more like stuck at a dead end of a never ending maze.

"And what does one do when they are stuck in a maze? Get out the pliers and cut through the hedge." He set down his pipe on the already cluttered table, so it just slipped to the floor instead. A muffled whine from the Bull dog issued from the corner. Gladstone was demonstrating the effects of ether. He didn't mind. The Whitechapel murderer had successfully murdered four women from right under his nose. Hours Holmes had tirelessly worked until he had finally given into the fight against exhaustion. Was he losing his touch? He had inspected the bodies himself. The two women who had been murdered the previous night had died of what Watson determined to have had their throats cut and then had their bodies mutilated. All that Holmes could gather "Jack" had used a simple silver blade on his victims and on the scene of all "Jack" related murders there was a chalk mark near the bodies of his victims. As though he wanted to mark the spot. On the body of Elizabeth Stride there was a sticky substance in her hair that Holmes could not fathom. It was not blood it was more yellow in colour and thicker.

"Holmes?" Watson clicked his fingers in front of Holmes' face and he was jolted back into reality.

"Yes Watson?"

"Would you care to explain why you have been experimenting on Gladstone?"

"He is currently demonstrating the effects of ether…" He could see the anger rise in Watson face, but just as he was about to say something there were three knocks on the door and Lestrade entered the room looking tired. As did most at the Yard nowadays. "To what do I owe this pleasure Inspector?"

"I wondering if you had any new leads on the Whitechapel case?" Lestrade wasn't hoping for much. It seemed to him if they were to have caught the serial killer they would have done in April. Holmes' face fell slightly and Watson's anger drained from his face. Holmes didn't answer but simply pulled a letter from the cluttered table and gave it to Lestrade;

_Holmes,_

_I am surprised you have not found me yet. You disappoint me. Perhaps the work of Jacky has stumped the "great" Sherlock Holmes. Losing your touch. Watch out Holmes, I still have more up my sleeve and I wager you will find me sooner or later, so it's goodbye Whitechapel hello everywhere! Be seeing you boss._

_Jack_

Lestrade reread the letter several times. After a moment he saw the letter was written in red ink; slightly smudged. Or was it ink?

"It's blood." Holmes said, not looking at Lestrade but out the window.

"I'll keep this for evidence." Holmes nodded absentmindedly. He heard two sets of footsteps approach the door and heard it open and shut. Gladstone was whimpering in the corner the effects of ether wearing off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two **

It had been three days when Amelia was allowed out of the cupboard. The lack of sunlight had given her a deathly pale complexion. Cobwebs had settled in her hair and she sat miserably in her room, crumbling a piece of chalk between her forefinger and thumb. Since the death of her mother her father had been increasingly cruel to her. She missed her mother and being woken in the morning by her hair being stroked gently. She missed the fact that she could no longer remember her mother's voice; no matter how much she strained to remember, she had pictures but whenever she saw them coldness and sadness would wash over her like she had just been caught up in a sudden downpour. However she also felt happy seeing her mother's smiling face, thinking that if she was there and was running up to her, her mother would open her arms and pick her up. Memories. That was all she was left with now. Memories that in time would fade and she would cease to remember her mother at all. All Amelia was left with now was her father. She would often think it unfair that her mother was taken away from her and not her father instead. She often wished it. Amelia pulled herself up and took the feather duster of her chest of drawers and made to tidy the house. She rearranged a bandage covering the palm of her left hand and got to work. Whilst cleaning her father's room she accidentally knocked a slip of paper with a name and address on it;

_Sherlock_

_221B __Baker Street_

_London_

She frowned looking at it with curiosity. Sherlock? The only person she could pin that to was Sherlock Holmes, the famous detective. She had seen him once at her mother's funeral. Amelia had no idea why he was there since her mother had died of a disease. There was nothing to suggest that she had been murdered. Maybe if he knew her mother then he could find her a place to stay. She didn't mind staying in an orphanage or a workhouse, the conditions were poor granted but it had to be better than the life she was living now. It was two o'clock, five hours before her father was due home. If she was quick then perhaps she could get away. She dashed back to her bedroom and pulled a small, slighty rusted, circular tin from underneath her bed. It contained pennies which she had collected from begging and pickpocketing. She thanked her lucky stars that she didn't own many possessions except a small locket her mother had given her. She opened her front door and stepped out onto the street. It was a warm day for October and she ran to the end of the street hoping to be able to call a cab.

"You're a bit young to be travelling on your own, aren't you darling." Said the Cabby looking at her kindly. She held up her tin and said.

"Baker Street, please." The Cabby looked at her but took her there anyway. It felt like an age but finally arrived in Baker Street.

"That will be three bob sweetheart." She pulled out three shillings but the Cabby only took two. She smiled gratefully to him.

"Take care darling." He said to her as she got out.

"Thank-you sir." Amelia looked up and saw the street sign that read "Baker Street". She smiled. There was a completely different atmosphere here than to Whitechapel. Although people were nervous it was nothing compared to it. She walked down the road, reading the numbers as she went. 221B. She read the number and stood there looking at it. She could hear loud voices coming from within.

"Holmes, what in God's name are you doing?" There was no answering voice but a table flew out an open window. She could see why the occupant had thrown it out because it was on fire. She jumped backwards and two boys threw water over it and it was doused immediately. A head popped his head out of the window. His hair was disarrayed and his face had soot on it.

"Much obliged, Wiggins." The boy grinned and turned to Amelia.

"Sorry about that, Miss." Amelia smiled, the boy was around her age and was nearly as dirty as the man who had shouted out the window.

"Don't worry. I've seen worse." The boy, Wiggins, grinned again and held out his hand.

"Wiggins." He said.

"Amelia." She said, shaking his hand. The other boy who was standing next to Wiggins shook her hand too.

"Miss Amelia, I hope you don't you mind me asking but what is a young lady like you doing here?"

"I am looking for Mr Holmes." She answered, twisting a curl in her hair.

"Well that was him up there. I'll escort you up there." Wiggins answered. She smiled. They ascended the concrete steps of 221B and walked in the door. A greying middle-aged women came out from the kitchen. She had a kindly face but looked down at Wiggins.

"It would be nice of you to knock young man and…" She looked at Amelia, "who is this young lady?" Amelia gave a small curtsy.

"Amelia Partridge, Mrs…"

"Hudson." She answered. Wiggins motioned for her to come to the stairs.

"She's come to see Mr Holmes." Amelia smiled at Mrs Hudson and followed Wiggins upstairs. He knocked twice before entering. The room was scattered with books, scientific equipment and broken bits of machinery. She smelt the lingering smell of burnt wood and tobacco. A man with a moustache was sitting in an armchair looked up as the two children entered the room.

"Why hello Wiggins." He said smiling, "And young lady."

"Good afternoon, Doctor Watson. Myself and Miss Partridge were looking for Mr Holmes." Amelia smiled nervously. She was frightened of strangers. Another man entered the room. His appearance was nothing short of eccentric. Goggles were perched on the top of his head, his dark hair was sticking up at odd angle, his hands were bloodied and his face was covered in soot. He studied the two children with curiosity, before sitting down in his armchair.

"To what do I owe this pleasure Wiggins and Miss Partridge?" Wiggins looked at Amelia.

"Miss Partridge requested to see you sir." The two men looked at Amelia and she looked at the floor. She took a deep breath and spoke very fast.

"Well Mr Holmes I believe you knew my mother and…and I thought that you could fix me with somewhere to stay." Holmes eyes searched Amelia's face with difficulty as she was still staring resolutely at the floor. He approached the small girl and she automatically took a step backwards. Fear. She said she believed he _knew _her mother. She used past tense meaning that her mother had passed away. She looked at the floor while she spoke to him, meaning that she feared him. Abuse. The child had probably been abused, by the way she stood, the dark circles beneath her eyes and the bandage covering her palm. This took Holmes a matter of seven seconds to work out.

"Miss Partridge, would you care to look at me while you speak." Amelia looked up. Her complexion was extraordinarily pale and her eyes portrayed nervousness. Her eyes. The autumn colour of her irises stood out. He had only seen the colour in one other person. That person had died nearly one year ago. "What of your father, Miss Partridge?"

"He is indisposed, sir." She was a very practiced liar and if Holmes hadn't seen a flicker of fear for a moment on her face he might of believed her. He also noted a cockney accent.

"It is rather a long way to travel to request living arrangements." The girl shuffled her feet nervously, looking at the floor. Habit. The girl had probably been taught to look at the ground whilst she stood before a superior. She twisted a curl in her hair. It was dark brown, thick and curly. Partridge. "May I ask your first name dear?" She looked up.

"Amelia, s-sir." Amelia. Once before he had seen a girl who bore that name. Amelia Partridge. Partridge was the marital name of Annabelle. His late sister.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**

_I would like to thank those who've subscribed and reviewed. It makes me feel nice. Anyway the next chapter will take longer as I'd already written the first three chapters when I published it. So updates will be sporadic. Review and enjoy._

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**Chapter Three**

Something seemed to be constricting Holmes' throat. Amelia looked back down at the floor, making sure her hair covered some of her face. Watson and Wiggins looked between the pair curiously.

"Was there anything else you required, Wiggins?"

"No, sir."

"I would like to talk to Miss Partridge alone." Wiggins nodded and winked at Amelia as he left. Holmes sighed as Watson lifted his newspaper and started to read it, his legs on the desk. He lowered himself to her eye level "Amelia?" She looked up at him, "Your mother's name was Annabelle wasn't it?" She nodded. Watson looked up abruptly at the sound of Annabelle's name. He stood up and walked around his desk. Amelia looked at him nervously, her heart thudding loudly.

"I don't mind if you send me to an orphanage sir." Holmes had never known a child that could tug at his heartstrings like she could.

"Why would I send you to an orphanage if you are not an orphan?" She looked up very quickly, she couldn't hide the fear spreading across her face, however much she tried.

"Please don't send me back to my father, Mr Holmes." Watson looked at her curiously.

"Why wouldn't you want to return to your father?" She didn't answer, instead Holmes did in a whisper.

"She has most probably been abused by her father and ran away to sought lodgings." Unfortunately for Holmes Amelia heard him, tears were in her eyes. She wasn't surprised at Holmes' deduction but she wished he would keep them to himself. Watson looked at Amelia with pity, he noticed the cobwebs in her hair and how loosely her dress hung against her skeletal body. But what he didn't get was that if she had come from the East End how was she able to fund her journey. He noticed a small circular tin in her hand.

"May I?" He asked kindly, she hesitated. If she was to hand over her tin then the two men would know that she was a thief. However she handed over the tin, thinking it better to be honest as Holmes had already proven his capability to know a person's motives within ten seconds. Watson took her tin and opened it and saw the small money in it. He frowned at her and she quickly took a step back, making sure she was out of his immediate range.

"Miss Partridge here has stolen this money in hope of funding a journey away from the East End I believe." Holmes said without a glance toward the tin, but in the corner of his eye noticed a small slip of paper folded next to the pennies. He took it and recognised the slanted handwriting at once. He handed the paper to Watson, who knew of the child's motive but not of her coming to Baker Street. He read the paper and recognised the writing. He gazed down at Amelia. He saw her resemblance to her mother in her eyes and even smiled when he saw the disarrayed state of her curly hair. He turned to Holmes.

"She's…"

"Yes."

"And she doesn't…"

"No." Watson hesitated and looked at Amelia again, who was looking at the two men with interest. Although her fear hadn't left her completely she felt slightly more at ease.

"Are you going to…" He trailed off. Holmes didn't answer straight away, he looked up at Watson seeming at a loss of what to do next.

"Do you think I should?" Amelia frowned, she was trying to figure out what they were talking about. Her. Obviously. But what else?

"It's your decision old boy." Holmes stared up at Watson with an expression that said "I've already worked out that part.". Noticing his look Watson added more, "In my opinion I think you should as she has nowhere to go. On the other hand you being on the border of insanit-"

"Yes thank-you, Watson." Holmes interjected loudly. Amelia couldn't resist and abandoned the old saying "Children should be seen and not heard."

"What's your decision, Mr Holmes?" She knew it was rude to interrupt their conversation but they were talking about her after all. Holmes didn't answer and Watson motioned for him to talk to her. She looked at him fully and her eyes widened when she found herself thinking of her mother. Holmes realised that she was slowly starting to piece the visual evidence together.

"I did know your mother Miss Partridge…Amelia," He corrected, "We were…," Amelia braced herself for the answer she thought she was coming, "Siblings." Even though Amelia had thought that this was coming she couldn't help feeling shocked. She cocked her head to the side, not in confusion but with curiosity. Why hadn't he come to see her after her mother had died? Although she'd answered this question almost immediately. He was a detective after all and with all the happens with "Jack the Ripper" had inevitably taken up all of his time. She took a tentative step towards Holmes, brushing her hair out of her eyes. She felt that this was something she was secretly hoping for. It was like finding a sixpence after losing a shilling.

* * *

Amelia woke up the next morning but didn't open her eyes.

"It was all a dream." She told herself firmly, "I dreamt that I ran away to Baker Street and found out that Sherlock Holmes was my mother's elder brother." She sighed and rolled over. Something wasn't right. She could smell tobacco and her bed didn't feel right. She tried to stretch out but her legs were met with an obstruction. She opened her eyes and realised she had been sleeping in an armchair. She raised her head and looked over her shoulder. The messy room had gained a few more bits of broken machinery and the most recent newspaper lay on a pile of older ones. She pulled herself into a sitting position to read the headline of the most recent paper;

_Murder In The East End_

The paper itself was a day old and looked like it been read a great many of times. Sliding herself onto the floor she read the first page but it contained nothing she didn't know already. She pushed the paper aside and noticed Holmes goggles he had discarded the night before. She held them up to her eyes and gazed around, giggling happily. Happily. She enjoyed the sound of her laughter. Watson heard laughter coming from the sitting room and went to look. He smiled at the sight of Amelia, who looked a bit like an insect, wearing her uncle's goggles. Mrs Hudson entered and Amelia quickly took off the goggles hoping no one noticed. She took a glass of milk from Mrs Hudson and inspected the damage to her heels that her shoes regularly did to them. Holmes entered, his hair even messier than the night before and his braces hanging by his sides.

"Don't touch." He aimed at Mrs Hudson, "Everything is in it's proper place." She exited. Holmes noticed his goggles behind Amelia, knowing that she had been playing with them. He picked them up and tightened the strap and gave them to her. She smiled and put them on. She contented herself with examining every part of the apartment, making mental notes of everything she saw. It was noon when Amelia heard three knocks at the door. She crawled beneath Holmes' armchair and listened.

"We will be requiring you down in Whitechapel…to investigate the scene." She didn't recognise the speaker but judging by his inquiry the man was likely to be an official from Scotland Yard. She quietly crawled from underneath the armchair and gazed at the man in a bowler hat and waistcoat. She peered cautiously around Holmes' chair, trying to be discreet.

"The second murder was the only one south of-" In the corner of Lestrade's eye he noticed what he thought what he thought was a dead plant behind Holmes' chair. After looking properly he noticed that it was a small girl, who was looking intently at him however when she noticed his gaze she hid behind the chair. Holmes leant behind the chair and pulled her onto his lap, he felt her stiffen. She didn't relax but leant forward and studied Lestrade.

"My niece, Amelia Partridge." Lestrade frowned at Amelia before resuming conversation.

"Your presence is needed immediately." He left and Amelia slipped down from Holmes' lap.

"May I come?" Amelia asked. Holmes looked at his niece who was looking at him with genuine interest. He wouldn't be wrapped around her little finger. He wouldn't allow it.

"I don't believe this is something a young lady should see." The disappointment on her face made Holmes feel guilty. "You can stay with Mrs Hudson." She was looking at her feet now and Holmes knew she was deliberately trying to look sad and innocent to make him change his mind. It was working. He sighed, "You can come with me and Watson but you can stay in the carriage when we need to get out." She smiled sweetly before running out the room. Holmes sighed again, so much for not allowing himself to be wrapped around her little finger. Watson chuckled,

"Now I've seen everything. So in summary you are the world's greatest detective who shows no fear in our endeavours and yet you are easily manipulated by a small girl."

* * *

Amelia was smiling all the way through the journey until she felt the familiar bump that lead into the East End. She recognised the buildings of Whitechapel and slumped in the seat hiding herself from view of the carriage's window. The carriage stopped by a yard and Amelia stuck her head outside the window to assume her surroundings. Berner Street. It used to be on her mother's usual route towards the market place. Holmes and Watson got out of the carriage and Amelia, far too inquisitive for her own good, started counting slowly to twenty-five. She slipped out the carriage and made her way to the scene of the crime. Holmes looked up at her glaring.

"Did you not fully understand me when I said stay in the carriage?" She didn't let herself too near Holmes or Watson.

"Course I did." She sniffed, taking in the smell of exhaust fumes, "However I chose to ignore it." She crouched down and dipped her finger in a yellow substance. She tasted it. "It's honey." She concluded, "Unless the murderer likes it on his toast..." She trailed off and saw a chalk mark on the wall. Did Mr Ripper want to mark the spot? She pulled a piece of chalk from her knee highs and compared them. She held out her hand. "Inspector, may I look at the letter that was written to Uncle please?" There was a short pause and she looked up. Lestrade looked at Holmes who nodded and the letter was handed to her. She read it through twice. She noticed the smudges. "The writer was left-handed, hence the smudges." She smiled looking at Holmes, who couldn't hide that he was impressed.

"She's definitely a relative of yours Holmes." Watson smiled. Amelia stood up and pulled back the bandage on her palm and checked it. It was a long cut, covering the width of it. It wasn't deep but it was sore and didn't show any sign of healing. Watson looked and knelt in front of her. "Let me see." She seemed reluctant, "I'm a doctor." He examined the wound, "It doesn't look infected but it will probably scar. It should've started to scab over really." He added to Holmes. Holmes looked at the cut. Simple silver blade. Probably used by her father. Silver blade. The cut resembled the slit throats of the "Ripper's" victims. The letter had been written in blood. Which the Yard had assumed was the blood of one of his victims. Amelia seemed unaware of "Jack's" identity. She was however a practiced liar and a known thief. He turned to Lestrade.

"I would like to have a word with my niece alone please." Lestrade frowned but walked out of the yard. Amelia, who was having her hand redressed by Watson, looked up quizzically. What had she done? Was she in trouble? Holmes knelt before Amelia. She seemed to have an idea where this was going. Her mind though not nearly as quick worked in the same way Holmes did. "Amelia-"

"Do I have any idea of Mister Ripper's identity?" She cut across him. She felt annoyed, why would he think that she knew? "No I don't." She said shortly. Watson had finished her hand and stalked back to the carriage. Watson glared at Holmes.

"What was that about Holmes?"

"It doesn't matter."

"No, no enlighten me. Why did you suspect that your own niece would have any idea who the murderer is? Just because she is from Whitechapel means she knows because if that the case maybe we should be going door to door!" Holmes sighed.

"I just suspected she had an inkling…"

"Why would she? She's seven."

"The cut on her hand resembles the cuts on the other women's throats. The chalk she pulled out of her sock. Chalk was also on her thumb yesterday."

"Children play with chalk Holmes." He couldn't answer why Amelia's cut looked similar to those murdered.

"The letter was written in blood." Watson froze, "If she doesn't know who the murderer is then it is probably someone she knows."

* * *

The trip back to Baker Street was an awkward one. Amelia said nothing on the way back, instead looking at the overcast sky. Holmes and Watson had followed her lead and said nothing also. When they arrived home Amelia did not ascend the steps of 221B but stalked away in hope of finding Wiggins and the Irregulars. She found them around the corner, playing cards.

"Mind if I join you?" Wiggins looked up and smiled.

"It would be our pleasure Miss Partridge." She stayed until the sun started to set and made to go back home. Wiggins walked with her. She bade him goodbye at the doorstep and proceeded inside, she helped herself to one of Mrs Hudson's biscuits. She shoved it in her mouth and entered the sitting room. It was empty of persons at least. She manoeuvred herself through the mess and curled up in the armchair.

_"…or Mister Ripper will get you next." _Did her father know "The Ripper"? She knew the letter had been written in blood and the chalk had been used to mark the spot. Her father was many things but she didn't think him a killer. He usually drank with someone whose name was Harry. At least she thought it was Harry.

_"…or Mister Ripper will get you next." _Harry always had a superior look about him. She felt herself getting sleepier. She was dimly aware of the door opening and flinched when it closed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note**

_I'm sorry this has taken so long but I was suffering from writer's block and I wanted it to be good. I've decided to keep a "Story Updates" section on my profile so you'll be able to see how the next chapter is coming along. Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter._

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**Chapter Four**

_9__th__ April 1889 _

There been no new leads concerning "Jack the Ripper" although there had been two subsequent murders in November and December. The scene of the most recent was almost identical to those murdered in September with the exception of the chalk mark, leading Holmes to believe the murders were connected but were committed by someone different.

It was early morning and a chilly frost had settled on the ground. Amelia was sitting on the roof, staring absently at the view. She often went up; she found it peaceful. She was just thinking about harnessing the power of lightning when she heard worried voices. Carefully sliding down she clambered through the open window. Watson whirled around.

"Holmes, she's here!" Holmes came in somewhat breathless, glaring at her.

"Where were you? I-" Amelia rolled her eyes.

"Was on the roof." She answered, grinning cheekily. Holmes sighed loudly which she did in return. Amelia's stomach growled and she took a piece of toast.

"Why is it still Tuesday?" She thought bitterly, changing into her school clothes. Amelia hated school with a passion.

"You'll have to walk back tonight." Watson said. Amelia moaned her signature piece in an attempt to change his mind, she hated walking home from school. It was over one and a half miles. "I'm sorry Amy but your uncle and I are busy." She snorted. If they were so busy then why hadn't "Jack" been caught? She had her own theory. Both had given up, drank brandy and then got into fights. She smiled knowingly as she made her way down stairs.

* * *

The sun hung low above the tall chimney tops as Amelia dawdled back to Baker Street scuffing her shoes, a note in her satchel.

"_Idiotic child." _Her teacher had mumbled, scooping up the shards of broken glass.

"_It was an accident. I'm sorry Miss Pettigrew."_ But her teacher hadn't listened and believed she had done it purposefully. Amelia had thought it unfair although she didn't dare answer back. She didn't to be in anymore trouble than she probably already was.

"…_worthless bitch…" _She winced, kicking a stone unhappily as a familiar numbing coldness crept across her skin. Half a year on these words were engraved in her mind. Sticks and stones may break ones bones but pain of words last so much longer.

* * *

Amelia was walking up Marylebone road when she noticed something strange. She heard someone pleading, weeping. A woman. She froze. Had "Jack" moved from Whitechapel and set up a Marylebone branch? She could smell almonds. She moved slowly toward the sound of the woman's voice. Living with a famous detective, no matter how short a time, had taught her to be inquisitive of everything. It probably wasn't the best thing Holmes could have told Amelia, as she wanted to make him proud of her. She poked around the corner of the alley. A women was crouching before a man, pleading. The man was eating something with almonds in it. Marzipan? She couldn't just walk away but what could a girl six days shy of eight do? She decided to run. Pulling off her shoes and abandoning them she sprinted back to Baker Street. Out of breath and shaking she burst into Watson's quarters. His attention was diverted as soon as he heard the front door bang open. Amelia, hair windswept, no shoes and wheezing, couldn't get her words out and was clutching at a stitch. Watson, who was with a patient at the time, approached her, crouching to become eye level.

"Amy? What's wrong?" He noticed her breathing had become very irregular, "Deep breaths," Her breathing slowly returned to normal, "What's the matter?" Amelia's eyes were watering.

"Man…in alley…women…crying…Ripper…" Watson frowned. "Jack" usually kept to the East End and was becoming very imaginative.

"What? Where? Amy," He placed his hand on her shoulder, she recoiled slightly, "Amy where…where are your shoes?" She scowled up at him. The soles of her socks were ripped as were the heels.

"Mary…lebone." He stood up very quickly and turned to his patient, who had been listening with interest.

"I apologise Mrs Doherty. As I'm sure you're aware there is no formal treatment for smallpox. Should your symptoms persist do not hestitate to call back." Mrs Doherty was a hypochondriac, with a different illness each week. Today it was smallpox. He scooped up Amelia and ran as fast as his leg would take him. Watson stopped a fair distance from the alley Amelia had pointed out to him and placed her on the pavement and held up his hand telling her to stay. She sat down and waited, trying not to let her curiosity get the better of her. A gentle breeze rippled through her hair when she heard two gunshots, a women's scream and the sound of two men scuffling. Amelia jumped violently and stood up, shaking. Was that Watson's gun? Or the criminal's? She cautiously went over to the alley's entrance. It was dark and Amelia could just make out two figures, fighting. A women ran out of the alley, her red hair flying and eyes streaming. Amelia could distinctly smell gunpowder. She recognised Watson who was pinning the other down. The villain was reaching for an object.

"WATSON!" She screamed, Watson stopped for a moment too long and the villain kneed him in the groin. He fought free of Watson's grasp and ran out the alley and collided with Amelia, knocking her backwards and grazing her hands on the pavement. She stared upwards and saw a face with a nose that looked broken, watery blue bloodshot eyes and a mop of ragged light brown hair. Amelia looked down automatically as she felt a coldness wash over her. A coldness that chilled her muscles and bones. It was the coldness that greets us when we are confronted by the things that frighten us most. Our darkest fears. A Partridge.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note**

_I'm sorry for the delay. Once again. I hope it was worth the wait. Anyway a big thank-you to those who've subscribed and to the wonderful people who have reviewed. The last four words are subject to change, it's obvious where it's going due to the category. I promise no clichés and it will differ because of Amelia. It all depends on your views._

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Watson heaved himself up, wincing slightly. The villain had got away, he had paused for too long.

"Amy?" He called. There was no answer, "Amelia?" Panic had entered his tone, he ran out of the alley and saw no one. Panic stricken he ran back to Baker Street and burst through the door. Holmes looked up at Watson.

"What's happened?" Amelia wasn't here. Watson's sweaty face and shaky hands told Holmes that Amelia wasn't just taking a very long time to get back.

"There was a man…in…Marylebone…Amy…gone." Holmes' face drained of colour.

"What did the man look like?" Holmes asked rather quickly, "Watson!" Watson seemed to be trying to remember. The alley had been dark and dingy. Holmes was becoming impatient and instead of waiting for an answer sprinted through the door.

* * *

Upon arriving on in Marylebone Holmes quickly scoured the area. He came across the alley where Amelia had disappeared. The sun had sunk below the horizon, staining the sky with a pink and orange hue, casting the street into shadow, nevertheless he immediately saw signs of a fight by blood on pavement in the opening. He dearly hoped none of it belonged to Amelia. Seeing her shoes a little way from the alley he knew she must of left them in order to alert Watson quicker. There was a fair amount of blood on a jagged brick. Further along the wall there was a smear. Holmes sighed heavily, marvelling at both her genius and stupidity. The blood was Amelia's, in a desperate attempt to get his attention. Watson hurtled around the corner.

"Holmes?" He looked at the wall and his eyes widened, "Tell me that's not-"

"Not in the way you're thinking." Holmes answered and starting looking for more blood smears, "It is a trail."

* * *

Amelia was being pulled roughly along through Westminster. Her face was blank of any emotion. She felt numb. As if absentmindedly, she kept making sure her hand was still bleeding and scraping it across the dull brick walls discreetly so not to alert her father to what she was doing. Another scar to add to her collection. As she made her way across Westminster Bridge she heard Big Ben starting to chime.

* * *

The trail of blood became quite vague within Westminster as there were only small spots on the road. Admittedly this could have belonged to anyone but Holmes believed the two had taken a cab, for Amelia's trail seemed to cover quite a distance in a short amount of time. In Parliament Square Holmes noticed the blood was still wet and began to speed up and as Big Ben began to chime he saw a child with disarrayed curly hair crossing the bridge with a tall man.

* * *

Amelia turned her head as she heard someone in pursuit. Unfortunately so did her father and pulled out a gun. The clock tolled. Holmes stopped dead. The clock tolled again. Someone Amelia could not see fired a shot badly forcing both man and girl to bend backwards to avoid the speeding bullet. She stared down the barrel of the gun as it was pointed straight at her head. The clock tolled again. Amelia screwed up her eyes and let a solitary tear slide down her cheek as the clock tolled a fourth time. At least if the trigger was pulled the pain would be momentary. Hopefully. For a fifth time the clock chimed. A shot was fired Amelia jumped but felt nothing.

"Good." She thought. The clock tolled again. The sound confused her. If she had just died why could she still her the clock? She didn't dare open her eyes. There was another gunshot, a cry of pain and she felt her father's grip on her slacken. As the clock chimed seven o'clock she opened her eyes, she saw her father holding his knee, his trousers in bloody tatters. Heart thudding and feeling the rush of adrenaline she made to run south but he grabbed her ankle and she fell forward. Her ankle seared with pain as she hit the ground. She hid her face in the crook of her left arm, she heard the sound of someone being pulled up. She managed to heave herself into a sitting position and let her eyes dart towards the South Bank. Holmes made his way cautiously towards Amelia. She scuttled backwards, her face tear streaked and covered in grime.

"Amy?" He said gently. She pushed herself against the side of the bridge, whimpering. He could see her shaking and crying silently. There was another gunshot and she flinched violently. Holmes discarded his own gun and took another step towards her. She pushed herself further in to the wall. She seemed unable to stand and was holding her ankle in an unusual way and her shoulder looked dislocated. Amelia was staring at her feet, not wanting to be approached and tried to push herself further into the wall. Hoping to become apart of it. She let out a small yelp as the pain in her shoulder peaked. She was aware of Holmes edging his way closer to her, like she was a horse. She looked up at him. His shirt was blood stained around his shoulder and Amelia saw a bullet lying on the ground beside him. His face was pale. She awkwardly made to stand up but didn't make her way over to him, instead she looked at her dress; frayed and covered in blood, bits of marzipan and honey.

"_It's honey…Unless the murderer likes it on his toast..." _She frowned. Coincidence?

_"…or Mister Ripper will get you next." _Amelia's eye's widened. She leant against the bridge and held her throbbing arm. Holmes also noticed honey on her dress. The cut on her hand. The chalk on her thumb. She didn't know who the Whitechapel murderer was. The cobwebs in her hair. She must have been in a dark secluded area when most of the murders were committed. Her father _wasn't_ the Whitechapel murderer but he was associated with him and even tried murder tonight. Amelia took a small tentative step towards Holmes and spits of rain started to fall from the now clouded sky. She held out her good arm and he carefully picked her up with his good arm and carried her over to Watson who was standing a little way back from Amelia's father who was being restrained by Lestrade. She buried her face into Holmes' shoulder so she didn't have to look at her father.

"Amy?" It was Watson, "Your shoulder is going to hurt a lot but it will get better." She felt her arm being straightened and an enormous amount of pain. She managed to muffle her scream into Holmes' shoulder. Giving into pain was for the weak. The pain did seem to lessen slightly.

"Oh Holmes don't tell me-"

"Very well."

"Have you taken out that-"

"You told me not to tell you." There was an annoyed sigh, "We have one for the rope here Lestrade." There was a pause, "This one here is an accomplice of our murderer friend." Amelia stiffened, tightening her grip around Holmes' neck.

"I ain't a murderer." Amelia's father said. Along with a drunken slur, Holmes detected a faint Irish accent under the cockney. He had never spoken to him before. He just knew his name was Ron. Partridge wasn't an Irish surname.

"I beg to differ." Holmes said coldly, "The state of your attire and body language tell us infinitely more. The blood on your cuff from where you attacked an innocent woman tonight. The chalk on the trigger where you intended to mark the spot. And not to mention physical and mental abuse of a child." Partridge looked up, arrogance marked every bit of his face. Amelia heard mumbling. She couldn't make out what either Holmes or Partridge were saying and tried to content herself with the sound of the river traffic.

"…your funeral." Amelia was shaking and Holmes noticed that his shirt had become wet from her tears. The spits of rain had turned into a light drizzle, settling into Amelia's hair and making it look like it was sparkling.

She could faintly hear Holmes and Watson mumbling. She didn't bother to try and listen. Maybe her hearing had been impaired by the multiple sounds of gunfire. She made a mental note to try finding something that would suppress it. Holmes turned and started to walk back over the bridge. Knowing she would never see him again she peered over Holmes' shoulder at her father, who looked over at her mouthing the word _"Worthless."._

* * *

Upon arriving back at Baker Street Amelia wanted nothing more than to go to bed. After a quick bath she changed into her nightdress and sat on her bed looking absently at her thumbnail. There were two soft knocks on the door and Holmes entered. He sat on the edge of her bed, neither one looking at the other. Both instead looking at the wall.

"You'll be staying with myself and Watson from now on. That is," He said with a glance at her, "if you want too." Amelia looked down.

"_Worthless." _She didn't want to be a hindrance on Holmes. Maybe her father was right, perhaps she was worthless. A hopeless nobody with no chance within today's world. The familiar, unwelcome coldness spread over her skin, that a jacket or cardigan couldn't fix. Her eyes had welled up with tears, threatening to spill onto her cheeks. There was no sadness or grief for her father. He was getting what he deserved. A short drop and a sudden stop_. _Although under the resent and hatred there was a small glimmer of sadness for the man who, albeit badly, raised her. Holmes chanced a glance at her and although her hair was covering her face he sensed her sadness. He noticed her sleeve was rolled up and saw multiple scars on her arm. The scars looked fairly old. Pretending he hadn't noticed he pulled her gently into a fleeting hug. He knew he'd regret it later but he felt that she deserved affection of a fatherly nature. Amelia stiffened ever so slightly, not knowing how to react. She let herself relax somewhat and pulled her sleeve of her nightdress down quickly, fearing Holmes had seen the scars on her arm.

"Goodnight Amy." He said as he approached the door.

"Night." She called back. She snuggled beneath the bed covers and exhausted she was asleep within moments.

Holmes sat down in his chair, refraining from using his violin. He couldn't pretend he wasn't shocked by the extend of physical damage to his niece but he wouldn't press the matter. Yet. He suspected that Partridge was the culprit of her extensive scars. However something told him that he wasn't to blame for these particular injuries.

* * *

_End Of Part One _


	6. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER**

_As I've previously said I do not own "Sherlock Holmes" or any characters presented in this story (except the few I have created), they are the property of Arthur Conan-Doyle. The __basic__ plot of this part of the story belongs to Guy Ritchie and those who created the film._

**Author's Note**

_**Part Two Is Dedicated To My Lovely Reviewers. Without Whom This Story Would Not Be Continuing.**_

_Hello! I'm back with yet another part to my story. Thanks for all of you who supported the idea of this. I've corrected any anachronisms I've found along the way. I'll clear a few points up now that a couple of people messaged me on. The bridge featured in the 2009 film was Tower Bridge not Westminster Bridge, which was rebuilt and opened in 1862. Also a frost is possible in England in early April as is it possible for it to start raining at any given moment._

_Anyway on with the show. Remember to review._

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_13th__ August 1891_

_Life is a gift that should not be wasted. It should not be spent with those who constantly undermine and belittle us. Such people are the ocean against a crumbling cliff. Eroding us down with every crash of the angry waves, until one day the cliff collapses into the waiting water. Unable to be fully reconstructed again._

Holmes and Watson were out on a case and Mrs Hudson was visiting her nephew and his wife in Lewisham, this left Amelia Partridge alone at 221B Baker Street. The ten-year-old had been strictly forbidden to follow either Holmes or Watson and had been contented herself for the past half an hour by mixing sodium bicarbonate and vinegar. After making as much mess as possible and knowing Mrs Hudson would have her guts for garters she attempted the front door again which was still locked. Running to her bedroom she rolled up her window and stared hard at the drop. The drop didn't scare her too much anymore, not since she fell from the roof trying to get back in. Sitting on the ledge and twisting her now shoulder length hair she thought about breaking the rules. Amelia was usually hesitant about breaking the rules, however she heard Holmes talking to Watson the yesterday evening,

_"Watson, rules are made for others to break." _She smiled and she let herself drop and landed haphazardly on the pavement below, smiling and removing her shoes she ran to the end of the street where Wiggins and one of the other Irregulars were waiting to show her the route.

* * *

The streets were damp and dark except for the small fields of glow the gas lamps cast and Amelia was almost running with adrenaline pulsing through her heart. It could not however hold back the fear. Holding on to a lock of her hair she found it still felt unusual, too short. It had been cut short by Mrs Hudson during an illness it also gave the landlady to cut away the knots. Seeing Lestrade and his men she ran as fast as she could towards them.

"Miss Partridge?" She heard Lestrade say. She didn't bother to look at him,

"Inspector." She acknowledged, noticing a door open to her left behind Lestrade and his men. Knowing she would have to be quick she bolted toward the door, hearing shouts behind her she ran as fast as she could slipping slightly with wet socks on the stairs. Slowing down at the bottom of the stairs Amelia listened hard signs of where Holmes or Watson may be. Hearing sounds of gunfire and shouts to match she cautiously made her way to the entrance and peeked from behind a pillar. She saw a Holmes and Watson hitting their opponents with what looked like batons. Amelia let her eyes fall to a hooded figure who was mumbling incomprehensible words a women's arm holding a knife about to drive it into herself but Holmes had stopped her by grabbing her wrist. A shiver ran down her spine as the fires illuminating the chamber were suddenly extinguished.

"Sherlock Holmes." The man acknowledged. Cautiously Amelia made her way toward Holmes. As the man's hood was lowered she recognised the man beneath.

"Harry Blackwood?" Amelia's eyes widened as she addressed the strongly built man in front of the stone table. Watson turned quickly and Holmes glared dangerously at her.

"You seem surprised." Blackwood said and Amelia wasn't sure whether he was talking to Holmes or her. Looking back at Blackwood Holmes addressed Watson.

"I believe the girl deserves our attention more than they." Watson agreed but not before whacking Blackwood around the face. Just then Amelia heard Lestrade and his men dealing with Blackwood's accomplices. Looking around the girl decided that this wasn't the best of her ideas and just as Amelia tried to melt away into the shadows Holmes turned his attention to the ten-year-old, "Amelia, I thought I told you to stay at home." She flinched. Her Christian name was only used when she was in trouble, "You realise I gave you these rules for a reason and I do not expect you to disregard them again. Do you understand?" She nodded not able to look at him. She instead stared at her wet feet. Old habits die hard. It wasn't until Lestrade spoke again did she feel Holmes' gaze leave her,

"Get him out of my sight." Blackwood was being led out by an officer she knew as Clarky. Slowing ever so slightly and speaking in a lowered voice so only she could hear,

"Watch out girl. People have their ways of escaping their fates." What had that meant? She had the desire to run and hold onto Holmes' hand and never let go. She resisted the urge, not wanting to annoy him anymore. She did however make her way very quickly over to Watson and held his hand rather tightly, which didn't escape Holmes' notice.

"Gentlemen, cheese!" As Holmes threw an arm over his face Amelia quickly placed herself behind Watson. It wasn't being camera shy it was to avoid affliction with Sherlock Holmes. A tactic Holmes often used to protect her from the sinister side of his work.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_12__th__ September 1887_

_Dear Sherlock Or Mycroft,_

_I know my days are growing short and although I do not fear for myself I fear for Amelia. I know once I am gone that my husband, Ronald, should be capable of making sure Amelia is raised properly but I fear there is something not quite between the two. I've noticed that Amelia shrinks from the touch of her father and strangers and she seems thinner. I understand you may think I am overreacting but being a mother I know when my own child is acting out of character. Since I cannot be sure of what the future may hold I would be forever grateful if you could check in on Amelia every week or so and if my suspicions are proven correct then I would be even more grateful if you could remove her from the environment. I would not wish her to enter a workhouse so if I could ask for a favour and ask either of you to give her a home. I understand this could have interfere with your lines of work but I'm prepared to help with parenting tips and the money father and mother left when they passed away should be sufficient in her clothing, food and educational needs. _

_Little girls like to be prettily dressed although in such wear that she wouldn't have the pressure of getting dirty. Amelia dislikes her shoes and at times refuses to wear them if this should arise make sure she has bandages around her feet to stop the irritation her shoes do to them._

_Since Amelia is a growing child she will need proper nutritional meals. I suggest the meals we had as children. I'm quite sure that neither of you are fantastic regarding the kitchen and I'm confident in Mrs Hudson's ability. Mycroft I suggest you either hire a kitchen maid or relocate nearer a fire brigade station._

_Amelia is a fairly manipulative little girl and will try and use a every possible method of getting out of doing something. I urge you not to give in as no good will ever come of spoiling a child. Despite what I've just said you should reward her for good behaviour and allow her to have treats every so often. However you must let her think that acting in an appropriate should always gain rewards. Let her know that it is for the good of everyone else that she acts in a desirable manner not just hers. You should allow to cheek you every so often but do not let her push you too far. As for punishment I'm not against corporal punishment but a child should respect their parents not fear them. Set rules for her and if she fails to comply punish her as you see fit._

_Regarding education I suggest sending her to a local school where she can socialise with other children. As I understand it the current leaving age is ten years after this it would be prudent if Amelia would learn could learn things such as needlework and how to cook. I would also like her to become knowledgeable in literature, such as "Jane Eyre" and the works of Charles Dickens. Allow her to be inquisitive and encourage her to ask questions for she cannot learn without having the drive to want to obtain knowledge._

_Sherlock should Amelia fall into your care I urge you keep her away from the public eye as I should not like her to become a target from your adversaries. I suggest that you could ask Mrs Hudson to introduce her as her granddaughter. _

_Please don't let her forget me. Should Ronald be arrested take every photo and tell her stories. Also take my necklace that mother gave to me and give it to her. Any trinkets she may want to remember me by let her have. And let her know that I love her more than anything and that we'll meet again. _

_Please know that I love you both and I never wanted to inconvenience either of you. Look after yourselves and each other._

_Your Sister_

_Annabelle_

Holmes reread this letter for the umpteenth time. He still looked back on this letter when he was at a loss of what to do. He wasn't made to be a father. He had found the letter whilst collecting Annabelle's and Amelia's belongings and preparing to sell the house. 12th September 1887. Less than a month. The letter hadn't been sent and Holmes knew his sister had intended to send it to him as he lived closest. He now knew that Annabelle had left the slip of paper with his address for Amelia to find if all else failed. He hated seeing Amelia's face when they went to her old house in Whitechapel. She was very nervous at entering the house and made himself and Watson enter first. After making sure the house was safe to enter she was in and out very quickly, making one quick trip to her bedroom, leaving Holmes and Watson to the rest. It was one of the few times he had seen her cry.

He would often curse his sister for becoming ill and leaving him with such a burden. People were usually left with money or expensive jewellery when they died. Not a child. However he would shake himself. It was neither Annabelle's or Amelia's fault that his sister had passed away. It wasn't Amelia's fault that she had such a poor excuse for a father. The tense wasn't incorrect. Partridge was still at large. Possibly still with his superficial surname. He had of course not informed his niece of this news knowing it would terrify her if he did. And as he sat in the darkness his room with his revolver in one hand he thought about how Amelia had acted on the night Blackwood was arrested. She had run to Watson and held his hand very tightly. She seemed to know Blackwood or recognise him at the very least. He must have said something to her. But what? Angrily he shot at the wall. His suppressor needed work.

"Permission to enter the armoury." Came the sarcastic voice of Watson. There was a snigger from behind him.

"Granted." He said shooting at the wall so the bullet mark would complete his pattern of:

V.R


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note**

_I'm sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I intended to post this on the 8__th__ but the riots in London stopped me from doing so. Just so everyone understands, some of the speech comes directly from the 2009 film and two shillings is roughly equal to £5.99 (GBP). _

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

_2__nd__ November 1891_

A light drizzle fell over the skies of London and a certain ten-year-old was busy burning paper in her bedroom, goggles over her eyes. She noticed that her supply of paper was running low, maybe she could burn the laces of her shoes so she wouldn't have to wear them. Despite her attempts to get rid of the "heel killers" Holmes always brought her a new pair. Amelia seemed to think that Holmes had too much money to spare. The sudden sound of gunfire made her jump. Sighing she went into the hall and saw Watson with Mrs Hudson,

"What'll I do when you leave, Doctor? They'll have the whole house down." Amelia cleared her throat loudly and Mrs Hudson looked over her shoulder at the ten-year-old and had to suppress a smirk. Amelia's hair, which fell slightly past her shoulder blades, was large, curly and sticking up at odd ends. As she looked at her the girl she removed her goggles from over her autumn coloured eyes and perched them on her head. She was holding a box of matches and her face was in need of a scrubbing. Her right index finger and thumb looked slightly blackened as did the bottom of her dress and Mrs Hudson had the sneaking suspicion that she had intended to burn a fragment of the dress so she could pick at it. To the trained eye Amelia bore a slight resemblance to Holmes. The darkness and untameable nature of her hair, the lightly coloured freckles that were splashed over her nose, which used to be the same shape as Holmes until he'd broken it. Even her grin made her look ever so slightly like Holmes but Watson saw her mother in that smile, which was usually a mischievous one. Holmes and his sister were very similar in physical appearance but with Amelia one had to look very hard. To the public Amelia Partridge was the granddaughter of Mrs Hudson, whose daughter and her husband perished in a fire that had destroyed their home. Only senior members of Scotland Yard and the Irregulars knew who she really was. Amelia never really understood why Holmes had suddenly changed his mind about who she was. She was sceptical about pretending to be a relative of Mrs Hudson, but she really had no choice as Holmes made quite clear.

"He just needs another case, that's all." Watson answered. He was going to be moving in with Miss Mary Morstan in a matter of weeks and despite what Watson said Mary was not his fiancée. Yet. Amelia knew this as there was no ring on her finger. She was happy for Watson, yet saddened at the same time. She knew he wasn't moving too far away and was in walking distance but it wasn't going to be the same without him.

"Couldn't you have a longer engagement?" Amelia scoffed.

"There is no engagement. As of yet." She thought. Just then a rather formidable looking man who was balding came out of Watson's office looking alarmed,

"I smell gunpowder! Is that right?" He rounded on Mrs Hudson, "Not in a domestic environment!" His eyes fell on Amelia, who quickly placed the box of matches on a small table behind her.

"Thank-you, Captain Phillip." Watson said quickly, his gaze had followed the Captain's, "Perhaps a nice cup of tea…" He gave Mrs Hudson a meaningful look, "Same time next week."

"Come along, Captain." Mrs Hudson said, showing him downstairs, "It's quieter downstairs. Amelia, to your room please."

"Yes, Grandmamma." She knew calling her "Grandmamma" annoyed her but Mrs Hudson shouldn't call her "Amelia". Amelia had no intention of returning to her room and made to follow Watson into the living room. He sighed, to which she smiled, and opened the door.

"Permission to enter the armoury?" He asked sarcastically, Amelia sniggered.

"Granted." She heard Holmes answer and then another shot, presumably at the wall again. Amelia followed Watson into the darkened room. She smelt gunpowder and stumbled slightly over the mess that cluttered the room. Looking over to the shadowy figure of her uncle she could have sworn he was stuffing a letter into the pocket of his trousers.

"Watson, Amy, I am in the process of creating a device that suppresses the sound of a gunshot."

"It's not working." Amelia said bluntly, just as Watson ripped opened the curtains causing Holmes to cry out in pain at the sudden light. Walking back over to his colleague an took his revolver off him and unloaded it. Amelia settled herself in a chair whilst Watson busied himself trying to clean the room.

"You know it's been three months since your last case. Don't you think it's time you found yourself another one." She didn't bother repressing the smirk that was spreading across her face as Holmes crawled out from his place behind the door.

"I can't but agree. My mind rebels the stagnation. Give me troubles, give me work."

"The sooner the better." Amelia mumbled indifferently examining her fingernails. Both Holmes and Watson ignored her as Watson handed Holmes the paper. As Watson looked for a place to sit, Amelia got up and made to sit on floor. However he pulled her onto his lap and started riffling through the letters he had collected from around the room.

"Let's see what we have then. We have a letter here from a Mrs Ramsey of Queen's Park, her husband has been missing for three weeks." Holmes, who was reading the paper, answered without interest or effort.

"He's in Belgium with the scullery maid." Frowning at the date on the paper he asked, "Is it November?" Amelia rolled her eyes and before Watson could answer,

"No it's July…eighteen hundred and ninety-nine." He glared at her and she could tell Watson was hiding his snigger.

"Alright then," Watson said, recovering himself, "Lady Radcliffe reports her ruby bracelet has disappeared." Holmes once again answered with indifference,

"Insurance swindle." But it wasn't just Holmes who answered. Amelia thought it obvious. The women had obviously wanted the money for the bracelet whilst keeping the piece of jewellery hidden. She probably wouldn't wear it again.

"Some people." She thought picking her fingernails idly. Holmes glanced at her momentarily and continued to read the paper which contained the headline;

_Blackwood Hangs Tomorrow_

"Ah I see your the attending physician at Blackwood's hanging."

"Yes. It was our last case together and I wanted to see it through to the end." Amelia looked up uncertainly as a very awkward pause followed. She cleared her throat just as Mrs Hudson knocked at the wooden door and entered with a tray of tea. Watson tried in vain to break the silence but Holmes cut across him.

"There is only one case that intrigues me a present. The curious case of Mrs Hudson, the absentee landlady. I've studied her comings and goings, they appear most sinister." This behaviour no longer bothered Mrs Hudson. Holmes seemed to have a vendetta against the aging landlady since she attempted to purchase a cat to rid the house of mice. The cat itself seemed to take an immediate dislike to Holmes. Watson had found the cat hilarious and still had tears in his eyes when "Bailey" or cats were mentioned.

"Tea, Mr Holmes?" She asked as if she hadn't heard. Amelia had slid down from Watson's lap and walked over to the window now streaming with light from the overcast sky. She picked up her copy of "Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea" and picked up were she left off.

"Is it poison Nanny?" Smiling she answered,

"There's enough of that in you already." Setting down the tea tray and making her way out she noticed the unconscious form of Gladstone,

"Oh look, he's killed the dog. Again." And left shutting the door behind her.

"Don't worry. He's still alive." Amelia said but Watson didn't seem to take her word for it.

"I was simply testing a new anaesthetic. He doesn't mind." After checking Gladstone was still alive he straightened himself up and Amelia caught a look of his aggravation.

"Holmes as your doctor-"

"He'll be straight as a trivet in no time." From her place on the steps by the window she giggled.

"_As _your friend." This silenced Holmes and he sat down in Watson's vacated chair, "You have secluded yourself in this room for two weeks. I insist you have get out."

"There is nothing of interest for me out there on Earth."

"So you're free this evening?"

"Absolutely."

"Dinner?"

"Fantastic."

"The Royale?"

"My favourite." As Watson made to leave he added,

"Mary's coming." Amelia looked over at Holmes just in time to see his face fall,

"Not available." He said quickly. Smirking Amelia returned to her book,

"You're meeting her Holmes." Holmes changed his tactic slightly,

"Have you proposed yet?" He asked innocently but Watson saw right through this,

"No I haven't found the right ring AND," He shouted as Holmes made to interrupt, "It's going to happen whether you like it or not. Eight-thirty, The Royale. Wear a jacket." And with that left,

"You were a jacket." He said childishly. Amelia marked her place in her book and placed it aside. She was surprised Watson wasn't marrying Holmes. The argued like an old married couple.

"I wager they will be engaged within the next three weeks." Her accent had changed slightly through her years living with Holmes and Watson. It still retained it's cockney edge and she was beginning to pronounce her H's. Holmes looked up at her a look of interest which made his features look boyish. He wasn't one to refuse a bet,

"How much would you put on that?" Amelia thought and came to what she thought fair demands,

"Two shillings, a large supply of sherbet and I no longer have to wear my shoes." Holmes deliberated,

"Two shillings and I'll get you candyfloss." Amelia frowned,

"What about the shoes?" There was no way she was allowing him to get out of that one,

"You continue to wear the bandages." Amelia began to whine loudly. What was the use of her shoes? She didn't mind too much if her feet got wet. Holmes settled his gaze, unfocused, on the wall opposite, trying hard not to listen.

""_I urge you not to give in as no good will ever come of spoiling a child."" _He thought hard. Amelia gave up more quickly than usual,

"Fine, you have yourself a deal." She held out her hand and they shook hands. Still holding her hand Holmes added grinning,

"But if I win you must not question the rules that are set for you and you must go with Mrs Hudson when she goes to the market. For an entire month." He found it immensely amusing to see his niece's features fall but she seemed extremely confident in her wager,

"Fine then. I want the largest amount of candyfloss you can get." Smirking Holmes nodded. He knew Watson better than she did and she'd said nothing about sabotage.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Amelia lay sprawled out on her bed staring aimlessly at the ceiling of her darkened bedroom. Gladstone was grunting in his sleep next to her bed. She knew she had annoyed Mrs Hudson by trying to bring her jam back together again by stirring her rice pudding backwards. She noticed it couldn't be unstirred and concluded that she could stir things together just not apart. Like trying to undo the past.

Bored with nothing to do she rolled up her window and looked down onto the damp street. The gas lamps had been recently lit relieving the street of total darkness. She whistled tunelessly letting the gentle breeze play against her face. There was hardly anyone about except for a few small figures dashing past. Grinning she leant out the window,

"Wiggins!" She called. One of the figures stopped and looked up.

"Alright, Miss?" Even though she knew Wiggins could not see her face properly she still tried to hide the smile that tried to spread across her face.

"Mind if I come out with you?" She was already sitting on the window ledge.

"I didn't think you was allowed out past dark." Amelia was only half listening and had already let herself drop,

"Well my Uncle or Watson aint home." She answered picking herself up. Wiggins didn't like the idea of being in trouble with Holmes but he didn't like the idea of annoying Amelia either. He decided not to annoy Amelia since they could always get back before anyone noticed. Amelia always liked spending time with the Irregulars and unlike many little girls didn't mind getting messy. After racing up and down the street she noticed around the corner a ripped piece of what looked like newspaper. It was greasy so it had obviously been used as fish and chip wrappings. It was drawn to Amelia's attention because of the part of the headline she could read;

_E 1889_

_tive Escapes From Pent _

If someone escaped, a criminal most likely, Amelia would surely have heard about it. And she hadn't, which unsettled her. Whilst the boys where setting up for a game of marbles Amelia quickly picked up the paper. Before the game could even begin an angry shout pierced the silent night. Mrs Hudson. Amelia sighed and with the boys in her wake walked towards the angry voice. Stopping out of her immediate range because she was holding a frying pan Amelia smiled nervously up at her,

"Inside now, young lady."

"Bye lads." There was an assortment of "Goodbyes" as Amelia ran up the steps, hearing the door close behind her Amelia turned slowly to face Mrs Hudson. Almost immediately she let her gaze fall to the floor. There was a few moments silence when Amelia decided to break it.

"You're not going to tell are you?" Mrs Hudson stopped in her train of thought. Amelia wasn't her responsibility, despite what the public thought. It was her duty to tell Holmes. Although she did prefer Amelia to Holmes. She was much less destructive. The landlady sighed, the child knew exactly how to say things to change someone's mind.

"Upstairs for a bath and then bed." Hardly daring to believe her luck Amelia stammered her thanks and ran upstairs.

* * *

Sitting in bed Amelia examined the slip of paper she had taken from the street. Someone had escaped from jail. Half an "O" was ripped off so that meant the person had escaped from Pentonville prison. The paper was two years and five months old, judging by the "E" before the year it was most definitely June as it is the only month to end with such letter. She hated that her mind wasn't as quick as Holmes. Sighing she shoved the ripped slip of paper down the side of her bed and settled down. Rain was falling heavily on the world outside drumming the streets in a calming, rhythmic fashion. A rumble of distant thunder echoed ominously throughout London and Amelia felt her mind grow fuzzy without her permission as she fell asleep.

* * *

The morning was bright and fresh, rays of sun were streaming through the gaps of the grey clouds. Playing absently with a bowl of porridge Amelia was barely aware that Watson was sitting next to her.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Looking up she was caught by a sudden idea.

"Erm…do you or Uncle Holmes keep any old newspapers?" Watson, somewhat confused by her question, frowned thinking.

"I think Holmes keeps some in his room. Why?" Amelia paused. Should she tell Watson? Probably not.

"I'm just interested." She shrugged indifferently. Her answer didn't seem to convince Watson but he did not press the matter any further. Sensing this Amelia changed the subject.

"How was dinner last night?" Watson didn't answer but gave her a look she knew only too well.

"What did he say? Oh lord he didn't start telling Mary about her life did he?" He did. She really didn't know how Holmes could be so blind to people's feelings. However brilliant he may be. It didn't seem Watson was talking to Holmes so she took her chance when Watson dealing with a patient and Holmes was in the living room. Pulling open a desk draw she found a stack of old newspapers, the most recent dated October of this year. Riffling backwards through the papers she found the month and year she was looking for:

_27__th__ JUNE 1889_

_Fugitive Escapes From Pentonville Prison!_

_Murderer and known identity thief, Ronald Partridge, has escaped from Pentonville Prison in the early hours of yesterday morning just a mere two days before his execution. Mr Partridge was arrested in April after he attempted to take another innocent women's life. One half of the notorious crime partnership "Jack The Ripper"…_

Amelia stared at the paper for what seemed hours. Four years of pent up anger seemed to be threatening to explode. Dimly aware that the patient Watson was seeing to had just left she got up the paper in her left hand. Slamming the door with such force Amelia didn't even hear Mrs Hudson shouting at her and banged open the living room door. Holmes looked up, it struck him how very much like her mother she looked. Amelia's hair seemed to crackle with electricity and Holmes noticed there was a newspaper held in her hand. There was a look of contempt etched into her features and she threw the newspaper at him. He needn't have even unfolded the paper, the date was sufficient,

"Amy, I-"

"Don't even bother!" Her voice was shrill and her accent had returned to it's original cockney, "What clever logic was behind this? I HAD A RIGHT TO KNOW!" The door opened and Watson entered looking confused.

"What is going on?" Amelia spun on the spot and glared up at him.

"He didn't even bother telling me my father is still alive!" Pointing accusingly at Holmes. She noticed that Watson looked uncomfortable. He never seemed to meet someone's gaze, instead fixing it on something else. In this case he shot a nervous glance at Holmes.

"You knew didn't you?" She whispered and the two adults sensed danger because she had stopped shouting.

"Amy, what you must under-" But she screamed in anger. It was a sound she had never made before. Stamping out of the room and into her own she locked the door and threw herself onto her bed and didn't even bother suppressing the sobs that shook her body.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note**

_This chapter was originally two but I decided to merge them as they were lacking on their own. So it makes a longer chapter, which should make you happy. I really appreciate the reviews/subscriptions it really makes my day. _

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

Amelia awoke the next morning feeling stiff and her head was sore from all the crying she had been doing. Her hair was sticking up, her eyes were bloodshot and her dress was creased. Her anger hadn't completely died over the last twenty four hours and she found she was missing her mother more and more. She would never had kept such important information from her. People had constantly told her that time healed all wounds. But in reality she found the wound would never heal properly, instead leaving behind a rather nasty scar in reminder of her loss. She had a wash and went downstairs to find neither Holmes or Watson at home, usually she would have preferred this as she wasn't forced to eat breakfast by Watson but now she wished one of them was home. She didn't particularly like the idea of going out so she occupied herself my mixing certain chemicals in Mrs Hudson's frying pan. After burning her thumb and a hole in the pan and hastily placing it back in the cupboard Amelia decided to go outside where she found two of her friends playing with a skipping rope.

* * *

Holmes entered Pentonville prison following a guard, his nose was still sore where Watson had punched him. On approaching Blackwood's cell he could hear him mumbling to himself. As if in the form of prayer.

"I love what you've done with the place." He said, a snide edge was in his tone. Blackwood did not look up but he seemed to hear Holmes as his mumbled prayer ceased.

"I'm so glad you could accept my invitation."

"I just have a small point of concern."

"How can I be of assistance?" Blackwood asked, still not facing the detective.

"I've already followed the murders of this year and those of '88 and I couldn't help but notice a criminal mastery, in the stroke of your brush."

"You're too kind." Blackwood answered blandly.

"By comparison your most recent work was more like a child's finger painting." Blackwood turned to face Holmes, a look of curiosity on his features.

"So, you're now curious as to whether a larger game is afoot?"

"I wonder whether you and Partridge are still in a criminal partnership. Either that or shortly my friend will pronounce you dead and I thought I may keep him company."

"Your mistake is to assume that I would associate myself with such a man." Holmes chuckled.

"Since you are shortly about to be sentenced to death don't you believe it is time to be truthful? Your familiarity with my niece gives you away immediately." Blackwood did not answer. That was his own mistake, he did not wager to see that brat on the night of his arrest, "My only regret," Holmes continued, "was that I hadn't caught you sooner. You see? Five more lives could have been spared."

"Those lives were a necessity. Their sacrifice. Five otherwise meaningless creatures called to serve a greater purpose." Holmes felt disgusted but as always he didn't let this show.

"I wonder if they would let me and my doctor friend dissect your brain." He voiced with childlike curiosity, "After you hang of course. I wager there must some kind of deformity, then you too can serve a greater purpose." He turned leaning against the cell's bars and fumbled for his pipe.

"Holmes, you must widen your gaze. I'm concerned, you underestimate the gravity of coming events. You and I are bound together on a journey that will change the very fabric of reality. But beneath your mask of logic I sense a fragility and that worries me. Steel your mind Holmes…I need you." Holmes looked unconcerned as he made to go.

"I say, you've taken quite a tumble from the House of Lords."

"And I will rise again."

"Bon Voyage." As he made to go Blackwood's intimidating voice floated toward him.

"Pay attention! Three more will die…and the one you consider your own. And there is nothing you can do that will save them." Try as he might Holmes' mask of calmness threatened to break, "You have to accept that it is beyond your control. And the last sane thought in your mind will be that _you_ made all of this possible." With a last fleeting glance at his adversary Holmes lit his pipe and made his way out. A twisting feeling in his stomach did not cease even when he made his way out of the prison. The crowd had not yet dispersed and he waited all but calmly for Watson to return to the carriage. Watson returned to see his friend bouncing on the balls of his feet, a sign that he was impatient to leave. The doctor noticed the slight look of unease on his friend's face. They both entered the carriage and Holmes called for the driver to be swift in their return back to Baker Street. Watson saw the failed attempt of Holmes trying cover his unease. His detective friend prattled on about the theatre, his words were much quicker than usual and Watson leant forward to study Holmes. A method he had learnt from Holmes himself.

"Watson, why are staring at me? There is nothing wrong with me whatsoever." Watson smirked,

"By saying that you have only confirmed my suspicions. I have lived with you long enough to know when something is troubling you." Holmes scoffed and rolled his eyes, "I can see your pulse rate from here Holmes." But he didn't receive an answer as the carriage stopped and Holmes leapt out at lightening speed, leaving Watson to pay the driver.

Holmes saw Amelia playing with a group of her friends. It was unusual to see her not with the Irregulars but with girls instead. Two girls were making an arch with their arms. One was red headed with brown eyes the colour of tea and was a head taller than Amelia who was named Harriet. Harriet was of Scottish origin and Amelia could replicate her accent with perfection. Amelia had a gift with accents as Holmes had with disguise. The other girl was within an inch of Amelia's own height and had soft blonde hair styled in loose ringlets. Although Amelia claimed Mary to be her friend Holmes knew she did not care for the girl's company. Maybe it was everyone with the name "Mary" who intended to steal friends away from others. Holmes made his quickly to the five girls playing together and singing a rhyme and running under the arch,

_"Oranges and lemons,_  
_Say the bells of Saint Clement's._

_You owe me five farthings,_  
_Say the bells of Saint Martin's._

_When will you pay me?_  
_Say the bells of Old Bailey._

_When I grow rich,_  
_Say the bells of Shoreditch._

_When will that be?_  
_Say the bells of Stepney._

_I do not know,_  
_Says the great bell of Bow._

_Here comes a candle to light you to bed,_  
_And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!_

_Chop chop chop chop,_  
_The last one's dead!"_

Amelia had just ran through just before the arch could catch her out.

"Amelia!" The ten-year-old turned around and looked up at him. She looked at him confused. She shouldn't really acknowledge Holmes when outside but he was talking to her and he used her full name.

"Yes Mr. Holmes?" She answered, Holmes sighed impatiently.

"Inside now please." He said in an undertone through gritted teeth. Amelia did not comply and instead shrugged to her friends, who were watching Holmes with confused curiosity. Although he knew Amelia was obeying orders to pretend to be Mrs Hudson's orphaned granddaughter she was also disobeying him and his patience had already worn thin, "Amelia Thomasina Partridge as your Uncle you are under my care and will do as your told." Every single girl's eyes widened, he took Amelia's hand and took her inside. She resisted slightly and turned to give an apologetic look to her friends, who were still watching the pair with shock. Holmes shut the door behind him and lead Amelia upstairs, who was starting to become angrier by the second, and into the cluttered sitting room. Amelia wrenched her hand out of Holmes' and glared up at him.

"Care to explain?" She asked placing her hands on her hips and looking at him with an inquisitive glare. Holmes could tell that she was still angry with him from the events of yesterday.

"I'd like to know that one myself Holmes." Watson said putting his paper down. Holmes looked down at his niece who still hadn't released him from her glare.

"Amelia from now on I do not want you outside of mine or Watson's gaze." Amelia looked at Watson who shrugged.

"What about my friends?" She asked. He knew by "friends" she meant all of the Irregulars, Harriet and Mary. When in reality she only had two friends she actually cared about and that was Wiggins and Harriet. He knew she was sorely tempted to push Mary into an oncoming horse and carriage, probably just to see the outcome, and she complained that a minority of the Irregulars were incapable of basic manual labour let alone to be in Holmes' employment.

"That would defeat the object."

"So I'm not allowed to go out? I'm effectively grounded for doing nothing!" Well not nothing. She had burnt something in the kitchen this morning and Mrs Hudson would never let him forget how many letters she had received from Amelia's school about misbehaviour. He thought someone who had a father like Ronald Partridge would have more fear of authority. Apparently not.

"I was always under the impression that you wanted to accompany me on a case. Or shall I assume that you want to be confined to your room. Like a common criminal." Amelia stared at him with cold anger. She had always wanted to go with him on more cases ever since she went with him to Berner Street but not being allowed out with her friends was going too far in her book. And the fact that he seemed to consider to keep her locked up made him no different to her father.

"I'm going to my room. Like the common criminal I am, unless that "defeats the object"." Holmes let her go and found Watson now staring at him, his arms folded, waiting for an explanation.

* * *

Amelia leaned on her windowsill glaring down on the street below. She watched people about their business and was suddenly overcome with jealousy. There was a soft knocking on her door. Three times.

"Leave me alone Watson."

"Five minutes Amy please."

"Five minutes and that's it." She called, she didn't bother turn to face him and she heard him sit on the edge of her bed, "Five minutes isn't really a long time, you know." She said blandly.

"Amy, you really mustn't be angry at your Uncle, he is only doing what he believes is right." Amelia let out a derisive laugh and turned to face Watson.

"Ah and I believe he thinks that keeping me in the dark for two years and then effectively keeping me under lock and key is in my best interests is it?" Watson sighed, she was just as quick in her retorts as Holmes was.

"Amy, I'm not saying that keeping you in the dark for so long was a good idea but Holmes didn't want you to worry and…" He paused not quite knowing how to phrase what he was about to say, "You cannot deny that you aren't now." She smiled in spite of herself.

"I suppose I fully understand the meaning of "Ignorance is bliss". But at least I could come to terms with this earlier." Watson put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"We did try and find your father. But he's just as elusive as before." She knew what "before" meant. Before she had started living with them. Before when her father and Lord Henry Blackwood acted as "Jack the Ripper".

"Well obviously not hard enough…" She snapped and paused as tears had started to threaten to stain her cheeks, "why does everything always go wrong Watson?" He stiffed slightly. He really felt for Amelia, she had no mother and an untrained chimpanzee could probably father her better than Ronald Partridge. Amelia put her face into Watson's side and started to sniffle. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Watson rubbing her back comfortingly. Amelia had never elaborated on her life with her father and Watson thought this was as far as she was willing to tell him.

"Five minutes." Amelia declared, Watson smiled and stood up and made to leave as Amelia resumed her position by the window, "Thank-you." She said quietly.

"You're welcome." He answered. Upon entering the sitting room he found Holmes slumped next to his chair, unconscious. After checking his pulse and making sure the substance he had taken was indeed morphine he settled himself behind his desk and looked forward to a few hours peace.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note**

_I am so sorry for the delay. I intended to post this over a week ago but my computer was at PC World. I'm not convinced it's fixed so when the next update will be is anyone's guess. I do not intend to abandon this piece but another update will be impossible without a fully functioning computer. Apologies._

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

Watson's well deserved peace and quiet lasted all but a quarter of an hour when an angry shout came from the kitchen. It seemed someone had burnt a hole in Mrs Hudson's frying pan and judging by the sudden faint movement in Amelia's room Watson grinned to himself knowing exactly who was at fault. Quick footsteps ascended the staircase and Mrs Hudson entered the sitting room holding the frying pan with a large hole burnt through it. Watson couldn't suppress the snort of laughter,

"Which one of them is responsible for this doctor?" Her eyes fell upon Holmes who was still dead to the world, "You and Mr. Holmes were out this morning, weren't you?" Watson silently confirmed this, "Amelia!" She shouted as she preceded to her room. Amelia had hidden in a shadowy corner under her bed and hearing Mrs Hudson enter she remained as still as possible and held her breath. The landlady seemed to give up but Amelia didn't chance coming out just yet.

* * *

Amelia had spent the night under her bed, paranoid that Mrs Hudson would get her revenge she hardly slept at all, leaving dark circles under her eyes and cobwebs in her hair. Pulling herself from under the bed she stretched and heard a women's voice issuing from the sitting room. She cocked her head in confusion, she did not recognise the speaker. The women's accent wasn't local, it sounded American perhaps.

"I am Irene Adler again." She let a frown spread across her face. She'd heard of Miss Adler and her current line of work. Although Amelia couldn't judge Irene since the ten-year-old herself was a former pickpocket she couldn't help feel impressed when Watson had told her what had happened with the King of Bohemia.

"Why are you always so suspicious?"

"Would you like me to answer chronologically or alphabetically?" If only Miss Adler still worked as opera singer then Amelia might look up to her. Walking into the hall Amelia witnessed Irene exiting the room and her gaze fell upon the ten-year-old.

"Good morning Miss Adler." Coldness etched clearly into her tone. Irene's eyes swept over Amelia's unruly cobwebbed hair, which was now so tangled she was nervous that Mrs Hudson would attack it with a brush as punishment for her frying pan, to her hardened expression. The women smirked at the younger's appearance,

"And to you young lady." And made her way down the stairs. Amelia watched her go from the top of the stairs, Holmes almost collided into her in his haste,

"Holmes, what are you doing?"

"Nothing." He said. It was so obvious he was lying that Amelia snorted.

"Are you wearing a-"

"False nose? No." And jumped out of the window. A crashing sound told her that Holmes must have gone through the roof he landed on, it was starting to creak under her own weight. Watson looked unconcerned as he closed the window.

"That was Irene Adler wasn't it?" Amelia said to Watson, he frowned up at her and she shrugged.

"I heard them from my room. What does it mean when she said the Grande hotel gave them their old room?" Watson seemed to stiffen but a smirk was on his face.

"Never you mind." He said, settling himself in his chair and picking up a letter from the table next to him. Picking up her book she turned to Watson,

"Just going to my room." She said, Watson looked at her suspiciously,

"Make sure that's all you do. No trying to get out…or fires!" She snorted and rolled her eyes. It made her look more like Holmes when she did that. It was about ten minutes later when Holmes himself returned. His eyes scanned the room quickly,

"Where's Amy?"

"Room." Watson said not looking up from his paper. Holmes returned a few seconds later holding Amelia's upper arm,

"Call me old-fashioned but I prefer a simple hello." She said irritably. Holmes said nothing dropping her arm and started cleaning the muck he had on his face.

"Look at you." Watson said surveying Holmes' back, "Why is the only women you've ever cared about a world class criminal? Are you a masochist?" Amelia giggled.

"Allow me to explain-" Holmes began but was interrupted by Watson.

"Allow me. She's the only adversary to have outsmarted you. Twice."

"By the sounds of it she made a right fool of you." Amelia added. Holmes wasn't impressed.

"Right you've had your fun." Holmes said firmly but both Watson and Amelia weren't done yet.

"What she after anyway?"

"What could she possibly need?"

"An alibi? A beard?"

"A human canoe? She could sit on your back and paddle you up the Thames."

"Well it's no consequence to you is it really, Watson. We've finished our last case together." He picked the envelope that Watson had already read.

"Missing person. Luke Reordan. Four foot ten, red hair and lacks his two front teeth. Case solved! You're obviously not her type. She likes ginger dwarves."

"I'm four foot four." Amelia said shortly. Holmes had taken off the yellow scarf around his neck and threw towards her, who tied it around her middle.

"Midget." Holmes said. Amelia glared at him.

"So you agree?" Watson asked incredulously. Amelia sat on the floor glaring sullenly at it and playing with the tassels of the scarf. A stream of thoughts started running through her head, muddled and confused,

_"…or you'll see the bottom of the Thames before Prince Edward becomes King…That would defeat the object…Fugitive escapes from Pentonville prison_…I SAY, I THINK I'VE GOT IT!" She said jumping up only to realise she had said the last sentence out loud.

"Got what?" She spun on the spot to face Watson, a confused expression on his face. She spotted Clarky, in front of them, equally as confused. Holmes, now sat in the chair next Watson, was smirking,

"Sorry to interrupt your train of thought, my girl. Carry on Clarky." She screwed up her eyes.

"It's Lord Blackwood, sir. It appears…well he's arisen from the grave." Amelia's eyes snapped open and turned her head so fast she felt the blood rush to her head.

_"…People can escape their fates."_

She felt sick and the colour drained from her face. She turned to Holmes and Watson. She felt an odd feeling, of pleasure that she was right in her assumption and that of nervous that Lord Blackwood was a magical mad man. She hastily placed herself closer to Watson, he did used to serve in the army after all. She allowed herself to be lead out by Holmes and into the carriage. She cringed into Holmes as they made their way to the graveyard. Amelia had always hated graveyards although her mother had found them interesting. Shadowing Holmes closely she scanned the area quickly. Lestrade's men were scattered around the area. Amelia started to half mumble and half sing the first song that came to her mind. Holmes glanced down at her. He recognised the rhyme as the one she was playing with her friends yesterday. He noted the elevated pitch of her voice and that she faltered on the last two lines.

"What of the coffin?" Holmes addressed Lestrade.

"We are in the process of bringing it up now." Amelia glanced at the men in front of her,

"What stage of the process, Inspector? Contemplative?" Lestrade glared at her and she gave him a half-hearted smirk. Watson went off the see the witness who saw Blackwood and Holmes started licking the sandstone that lay on the ground.

"What tastes can you pick out from this?" Amelia turned to him and picked up a stone,

"Dirt." Came the flat reply.

"Anything helpful?" She licked the stone again,

"Erm…Honey?" Holmes frowned but nodded. The coffin had been brought up and Watson had begun to open it and Amelia turned her face away,

"Good lord." Amelia turned, the coffin did not contain Blackwood but a man with red hair. The sickness in her stomach seemed to multiply and she let out an involuntary whimper,

"That's not Blackwood." There was a few moments pause,

"It seems your eyes are open and your ears are working but alas your brain has long since departed." The Inspector glared at her which she returned. She knew she was being exceptionally rude but she didn't care. Holmes looked up at her, he knew as time passed she becoming more distressed and she beginning to act out of character. She rarely spoke in front of Lestrade let alone to him.

"Do you have a pen?" He asked and felt that the deceased had no front teeth, he gave it to Watson, since he was unable to lift his upper lip.

"Adler's dwarf." Watson said. Holmes felt Amelia shuffle closer to him. He had reason to believe that she knew of Blackwood's intent. She wasn't an imbecile after all. Amelia frowned; if this was Adler's midget who was now in Blackwood's coffin and dead then she thought that either Blackwood had a grudge against him or he had worked for him and had served his purpose, thus making him a dispensable part of his plans. Whatever they may be. She relayed this information back to Holmes once they'd finished in the graveyard and stayed silent for most of the rest of their trip back. Holmes and Watson had stopped talking long enough for Amelia to voice her idea on what she had thought about this morning,

"I know." She said simply and Holmes immediately understood. She knew about Blackwood's intent. Well the part which included her anyway, "But what I don't understand is why you never told me. I'm not an invalid, Holmes." She stated matter-o-factly and finished the rhyme she had faltered on earlier,

_"Here comes a candle to light you to bed,_

_And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!"_


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note**

_I thank you all for your patience during the time my computer was broken. I have a new one now so everything is up and running again._

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

Holmes knew why he hated nursery rhymes now. The sinister meaning behind each of them. He hated them even more because Amelia knew this and even though she was scared in case Blackwood or her father were to abduct her she enjoyed watching Holmes twitch slightly every time she recited the last lines of "Oranges and lemons". It was only after a glare from Watson that she let her gaze fall to the floor a grin plastered on her face. She ate chips and listened to Holmes and Watson's theory on the scratches on the watch,

"The man could have been a drunk." Amelia said, "His hand could have slipped when he wound it, so that could be why the scratches are there."

"Yes, Amy. Excellent. Hmm...there are several initials here…"

"Pawn brokers marks?" Watson suggested.

"Good. The most recent is…M.H., M.H stands for?"

"Maddison and Haig." Amelia stated her mouth full of chips. The trio stood in silence for a few moments until Holmes clapped his together,

"Fantastic. They should be able to give us an address."

"Oh, what a coincidence." Watson said sarcastically, "You know there is one important clue you two have yet to deduce from the watch." Amelia looked at him confused, "The time-"

"No we couldn't have. It's broken." Amelia said bluntly.

"I'm taking tea with my future in-laws." The ten-year-old snorted, earning her an angry glare.

"Reckon you're future, gentlemen" Amelia jumped and turned to see a plump gypsy women.

"Absolutely not." Holmes answered rather quickly. Amelia frowned at him.

"You need to hear what I have to tell you!" She exclaimed. Amelia noted an Irish accent, which reminded her of her Grandmother, "Even if were to do with Mary?" Watson stopped intrigued and turned to face the women. She took his hand in hers, "I see two men. Brothers. Not in blood but in bond." Amelia's eyes widened and turned to face Holmes. Something wasn't right.

"What of Mary?" Watson asked quietly.

"Ah M for Mary, for marriage. Oh, you shall be married." Watson nodded and asked her to continue.

"I see…patterned tablecloths and oh china figurines and ugh lace doilies! She proclaimed an evident note of disgust in her tone. Amelia's face deadpanned.

"Holmes, does your depravity know no bounds?"

"No." He replied, rather shortly. Amelia glared up at him.

"Sabotage? That wasn't part of the bet." She said in an undertone.

"Nor was it mentioned in the list of can's or cannot's."

"This isn't over." She stated and she only half-listened to the two men's argument. The gypsy women, Flora, suddenly grabbed Amelia's hand and looked down at her palm, her finger tracing the lines. Amelia considered herself an open-minded person but some of those palm-readers were old frauds.

"Um…ow." Amelia mumbled and tried tugging her wrist away. The women's eyes looked at her in sympathy and she released the girl's wrist. Amelia rubbed her wrist and watched with confused curiosity at Flora's retreating back.

* * *

Holmes and Watson had returned from their respective shops. Amelia's mind was still on the gypsy women's face,

"Well you have you're ring and I have to address of the ginger midget."

"Yes, I think Mary will really like this. What do you think?" He asked Amelia showing her the ring, she snapped out of her train of thought,

"It's beautiful. Mary will be sure to love it." She said and Holmes scowled at her. Watson however beamed.

"Right, I have an appointment with Mary." Holmes seemed to accept this and took Amelia's hand,

"Well give her my best. And the family as well." Amelia knew full well that Holmes meant none of these words as he led her towards the address of the ginger dwarf. Holmes started picking the lock.

"Why don't you just kick it down?" She said when suddenly she jumped when a foot kicked down the door. She turned she saw Watson looking slightly annoyed. Amelia entered the dishevelled room and looked around. The place was as disorganised as the living room in Baker Street, although the mess there had some sort of order to it. This however did not. She smelt a seductive smelling perfume. She wrinkled her nose,

"Miss Adler was here?"

"Either that or the ginger midget wore the same Persian perfume." Amelia wandered around the dishevelled rooms. She came across a room that was overpowered with different smells. There were burnt plants and Amelia inspected a pot of what seemed to be disembowelled amphibians.

"Look at the crest." Amelia turned and saw Watson holding a piece of paper to Holmes, "Reordan was working with Blackwood."

"Of course he was." Amelia stated happily.

"The question is to what end and whatever he was working on he clearly succeeded." Holmes said, leading the other two into the largest front room.

"How so?" Watson asked,

"Well he's dead isn't he?" Amelia said frankly.

"There's one odour I can't put my on. Candyfloss…" Amelia turned and saw two burly men holding items that Amelia was unsure of their meaning and one was eating a toffee apple.

"Toffee apple." She commented causing both Holmes and Watson to turn.

"Let me guess. Judging by your arsonist tool kit, you're here to burn down the building and obliterate all evidence."

"Just one second." One of the men said, smirking, "Oh, Dredger!" He called dramatically over his shoulder. Heavy footsteps made the floorboards creak and continued to grow louder. A man appeared in the doorway and towered easily over his two minions.

"Meat…or potatoes?" Holmes asked Watson slowly,

"My ten minutes are up." Amelia felt herself shoved under the wooden table as two of the arsonists advanced toward Watson and the giant of a Frenchmen came toward Holmes. Amelia saw Watson having slight trouble and was outnumbered. She took her chance when Holmes was thrown across the table; she grabbed a wooden plank and whacked the back of one of the man's knee. He stumbled and she grabbed a frying pan and swung it at his head with all the strength she could muster. The other saw this and punched her hard in the face. She spun around momentarily dazed and Watson grabbed the man harshly and punched him hard around the face muttering about not hitting women. Amelia turned and saw the Holmes and the Frenchmen seemingly fighting over a stick. The giant spun him onto the table and Holmes tried to attack him with what Amelia thought was toasting fork but the giant had already started to strangle Holmes. Panicking Amelia ran under the table and climbed to the other side and unbeknownst to neither Dredger nor the now lightheaded Holmes, she attempted to jab the fork into the giant. Instead of getting her desired result Dredger flew backwards into what seemed a store cupboard. Holmes sat up and looked down at Amelia whose eyes had widened in euphoric surprise.

"Is it a magic wand?" She asked. Holmes didn't answer and put the "magic wand" back on its stand and wound a lever. Dredger came forward and as Holmes edged toward him Amelia backed away very quickly. The giant asked something from Holmes which Amelia didn't understand properly and taking advantage of his pause Holmes touched the forked shaped object onto the pipe and Amelia grinned in surprise when Dredger flew backwards onto the man, who Watson was threatened.

"Holmes. What is that?"

"Je ne sais pas." He answered with a small smile, reminiscent of Amelia's surprise.

"Allons-y, mon frère." Called one of the men to Dredger. Holmes followed the large man. Both then proceeded to jump out the window. Amelia looked up at Watson and shrugged before bolting through the window. She miscalculated the height of the drop but thankfully landed catlike although she felt her wrist might have been sprained. She saw Holmes in the distance and wound as fast as she could through the people gathering the roads. She caught up with Holmes and Dredger in an old warehouse. The two were conversing in French. She peeked around the door; the smaller of the two suddenly ran toward the ship in the process of being built. From what Amelia could tell Dredger had begun knocking the ship's restraints and slowly it was edging forward, creaking ominously. She tried standing on a wooden barrel to see what was happening but ended up cursing her short stature.

"Amy!" It was Watson, "Where is Holmes?" She pointed toward the ship, "For God's sake stay here." The sound of Watson's revolver made her shake and her heart race. The ship started sliding out into the harbour, "HOLMES!" Just then a large arm wrapped around her waist and lifted her off the barrel with perfect ease. Turning her head around she saw the face of the muscular French man. Amelia struggled relentlessly to no avail. She tried to scream but found a large hand over her mouth; desperately she bit into the man's finger. Dredger retracted his hand quickly, he had a good mind to snap the scrawny little brat's neck but she was to be unharmed. In the moments that his hand was away from Amelia's mouth she tried to scream,

"WATS-" However she found a sweet-smelling cloth covering her mouth and nose. At first Amelia thought it was a device to keep her silent, it wasn't until darkness started winding its way into her vision however that she recognised the substance. It was too late to start struggling again as she was too exhausted and just as her consciousness fled she heard a strangled shout and the noise of passing police officers.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note**

_A word of warning; this is where the rating really shows now. Profanity is scarcely used and is only moderate. There are some scenes of physical violence that I admit are gory and there are parts with physiological damage._

_Petrichor is the smell after rain. I'm aware that the word was coined in the 1960s but since it is in the narrative and not referenced by the characters I deem it OK. It is also a rather cool word._

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**  
**  
**"Watson, what have you done?" Holmes asked, looking at the ruined state of the slipway. The sound of oncoming police officers greeted them and Watson looked around,

"Are we in trouble?" Whilst the two were escorted out of the building and into a carriage, Watson craned his neck to where he'd last seen Amelia. Holmes too noticed her absence.

"Where is she?" Watson didn't answer, his eyes darting frantically around the slipway,

"I swear to you, she was there on the barrel."

"Dredger is working for Blackwood and he is working with Partridge!" Watson's face fell. What had he done? Holmes however showed no emotion as always.

* * *

The sun had begun to set, leaving the sky and puffy clouds streaked with an orange and navy hue, the colours blended together like a water painting. The filthy water of the Thames managed to sparkle as a man nearing seven foot in height climbed out of a boat and carrying a girl with messy thick dark brown hair, who was unconscious. The man carried the girl into the warehouse where two men looked around. Their shadowy silhouettes moved into the last fiery light of the sunset, throwing their faces into profile. The taller of the two had slick back black hair and was obviously of a higher social class than his companion. The other was not as tall as his fellow, reaching just above his shoulder. His eyes were watery blue and his nose looked like it might have been broken in the past. The muscular man greeted the other two in French and assured them the girl was unharmed and laid her on the floor. He departed soon after. The warehouse was large and dark. A breeze rippled throughout the building bringing in the smell of petrichor mingled with the smell of swine as their bodies hung from the ceiling. The man with light brown hair looked at the girl on the floor. The shape of their faces were almost identical and their jaw lines presented similarities, although the young girl's wasn't prominent like the man's and as such gave her a softer appearance,

"Please say you're not going soft on her, Partridge." The older man smirked, "It was you who said that Dredger wasn't to hurt her, after all."

"Sod off, Blackwood. I want to kick the shit out of her myself." Came the angry answer as he rumpled his mop of light brown hair. It wasn't until dawn when the girl on the floor started to stir. She groaned and opened her eyes. Pulling herself into a sitting position and looked up. Her breath rose, sparkling, like an intricate spider web covered in dew and large autumn eyes fell to floor when she noticed the company she was in. Her body started to shake and her head turned quickly to assess the exits but she her chances of escape where slim, "Amelia," The man, who could only be the girl's father, greeted warmly, "two years, my dear. It has been too long. I suppose you're impressed with my-"

"Actually no. I was more impressed of the contents of my handkerchief the last time I blew my nose." Amelia said and instantly regretted it. Partridge paused for a second before swinging his fist into her nose. Amelia felt it break and blood poured from it onto her dress, she stifled a cry of pain and pulled her legs up to her chest. Blackwood chuckled and turned to Partridge. Amelia twisted her body toward the warehouse's exit;

_Assessment _

_No signs of physical damage. Advantage. Concrete flooring: Able to propel a considerable head start. No shoes and wet socks will slow me considerably. I can smell copper, gunpowder, the smell after the rain and meat. Raw meat. Water sloshing against gravel; I'm next to the Thames._

_Possibility of escape: Highly unlikely._

Her chances were slim but not impossible. She bolted and heard one of the men follow her closely. She reached the outside and saw only the river surrounding the warehouse; she screamed when her father came too close and jumped into the frigid November water. She was pulled out by her hair and dread filled the girl's expression and as her head was brought down onto the damp concrete. Her head seared with pain and she prayed that Holmes and Watson were able to find her.

* * *

"John Watson!" The guard called. Holmes swiveled and saw the silhouette of Mary Morstan. He did not bother getting up and glared staunchly at the wall. Although Watson was still angry with Holmes he couldn't help but look at his friend sympathetically as he left. Holmes did not blame Watson for Amelia's kidnapping, if anything he blamed himself. The whole thing was an elaborate trap for Holmes to keep Amelia close to him and in the presence of any trouble she would have stayed back, thus able to make their move. Although Blackwood was key to locate Amelia was his top priority. He refused to let himself think about what would happen if he didn't find her alive or at all. He doubted he would forgive himself or remember his sister if such a situation arises.

* * *

Hot blood poured down Amelia's face and she looked around suddenly disorientated. Partridge roughly pushed his daughter back into the warehouse; she stumbled and fell over, grazing her hands and knees,

"Get up!" Amelia tried to pull herself up but she fell again. Waves of nausea swept over her and her vision kept sliding in and out of focus. Her father shouted at her again but his voice echoed distantly, making no sense to her at all. She was aware of him dragging her and suddenly dropping her again. She felt very cold but couldn't remember why. She was glad to let her eyes close and allow her consciousness slip away once more.

* * *

The prison yard was alight with raucous laughter as Lestrade entered; he bustled into the middle of the crowd and saw Holmes delivering the punch line to a well-received joke.

"Right, come on you're out." He said to Holmes.

"Thank goodness you've arrived Lestrade. I'd almost run out of jokes." Lestrade sighed,

"In another life you would've made an excellent criminal." Holmes' response came without hesitation,

"And you sir and excellent policeman." Lestrade decided against answering that. He scrutinized Holmes' appearance before handing him a handkerchief.

"Clean yourself up."

"For whom?"

"Friends in high places." Holmes blew his nose and attempted to hand it back to the inspector who looked disgusted and turned his back on the consulting detective. He wondered where his execptionally rude shadow had got to. He assumed that the child was with Doctor Watson and thought nothing more of it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note**

_Partridge uses the term "chinas" which is rhyming slang for mate/friend (china plate). I am also taking to avoiding the whole Sherlock Holmes film section until I've seen the film. I find it extremely annoying and inconsiderate to publish the stories and then to have the cheek to summarise the story giving away plot points. I thought I'd warn anyone who hasn't seen the film yet. __Anyway as a Christmas treat anyone who reviews I will review one of your stories. Happy Christmas/Hannukah._

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

Watson slowly walked back to Baker Street. It wasn't that he regretted his argument with Mary but he wished she hadn't got into such a state. He loved Mary. More than anyone he had ever met and even though he tried to convince himself that he wanted no more to do with this case he couldn't sit back and leave Amelia when she needed both Holmes and himself more than ever. As he walked through the glistening fog he saw one of Holmes' street urchins rushing toward him.

"Doctor Watson!" The boy shouted. Watson didn't know his name or any of the Irregulars, apart from Wiggins. He turned his attention to the boy, who looked about a year or two younger than Amelia, "Doctor Watson, Bertie was telling me that some massive bloke was carrying Miss Partridge to a boat on the Thames." The boy was breathless, filthy and his flaxen blonde hair was sticking up at odd ends and was flecked with dirt. Watson was silent for a second before speaking,

"Thank-you, lad." He said before handing him a sixpence. Watson ascended the steps of 221B his mind not understanding what he had just heard. The Amelia Partridge he knew would have somehow gained his or Holmes attention. Unless she unable. The idea sent a shiver down his spine, "Holmes?" Watson called. There was no answering reply and Mrs Hudson, where ever she was, was unresponsive.

* * *

Laughter confused Amelia where she lay. Consciousness returned slowly but the pain returned much more swiftly. She let out an involuntary moan which alerted the man above her, he spoke words which she could not understand. There were words she could pick out when the fog in her head cleared for a few seconds at a time.

"You're not…looks like they've…" Amelia knew the context of the sentences, even though she missed half of it. The battered ten-year-old feared the words were right. What if Holmes wasn't coming? She felt she had fooled herself thinking he was coming. She felt cool steel run across her cheek, she shuddered and recoiled from what she believed to be a knife.

* * *

Watson was looking through papers and clearing things into boxes. He looked around his room; it was practically empty now. He sighed, he was delighted to be moving in Mary but Holmes was right. He did fear a life without the adrenaline rush, without the thrill. He ran his eyes across the room once more. Where was his rugby ball? He doubted Amelia would have taken it without asking and she sometimes played football with the boys anyway. He suspected Holmes might have hidden it but he couldn't be certain. He was sure Holmes would be fine without him around all the time; he wasn't going to abandon him. Although he knew without him around Amelia would probably start morphing into a miniature version of Holmes. Watson knew of her desire to be a detective. She certainly had the mind for it and she could probably excel in areas with male adversaries that Holmes wouldn't be able to pull off. Suddenly the door opened quietly revealing Holmes. Watson's eyes darted downwards but was disappointed when he didn't see the little girl whom he had come to love.

"I didn't know you were here." Watson said.

"Since this room is no longer your's do you mind if I utilize it?" Holmes asked

"Be my guest." Watson answered a small smile tugging on his lips.

"In here chaps." Holmes called opening the other door. Watson turned his attention to the police officers carrying a large body bag into the room and placing it on the table.

"Who is he?" The doctor asked trying to feign only slight interest.

"The man who attempted to kill you at Reordan's lodgings. Evidently his neck didn't survive the impact of Dredger landing on him." Holmes said casually.

"Yes…" Watson said awkwardly, "Thanks for that by the way." Holmes nodded slightly and turned his attention,

"Elbows and arms are stained with blood, but it's older than his own injuries." Holmes said aloud. He lifted the man's arm and smelt his arm, "None of the blood is own…" He cut a lock of the man's hair and lit it. The flame burnt yellow with green sparks. That made the man an industrial worker.

"Nine Elms." Watson interrupted. Holmes looked up.

"I'm sorry?"

"The area you're looking for is Nine Elms." He repeated.

"Do you remember where I put the Lords Register of Members' Interests?"

"It's on the step ladder." As Holmes left the room Watson bent over the body examining him. His neck wasn't intact as Holmes correctly noticed.

"Woolwich Arsenal, Limehouse Chemical Works?"

"It'll probably be a factor by…the river." He finished the last bit very slowly and Holmes looked up at him quizzically, "One of the boys told me he saw Amy being taken by Dredger to the Thames. It could be one of the factories." Holmes continued to stare for a minute and then turned his attention back to the matter at hand,

"Queenshithe Slaughterhouse," Holmes said a different tone in his voice, "Nine Elms. Factory by the river. Well done Watson that should lead us straight to Blackwood." Watson suddenly remembered Mary,

"Not us. You."

"Yes. It's just a figure of speech, old boy." Holmes left quickly and Watson turned his attention back to his papers and he noticed Holmes revolver lying on the table.

"He's left it there on purpose." He said. His tone mixed between annoyance and amusement. Gladstone barked in agreement.

* * *

Amelia whimpered backing away. She tugged against the hold on her wrist nothing had yet happened but she burst into tears. She was forced to lie down and she heard a male voice but could not tell whether it was Blackwood or her father. The knife rested on her smallest finger on her left hand.

"Now Amelia this will help let all the abnormalities out of you. You want to be normal don't you? It will knock that left handed nonsense out of you." Amelia squirmed and attempted to kick the man in the groin. She was silenced by a hard fist to her ribs. She gasped, her voice had been reduced to a whisper and her breaths were ragged from crying. The cool knife sunk into her finger and the factory was filled with shrieks of agony but the knife did not retract, instead it continued. Amelia didn't think she'd ever been in so much pain. The pain was white hot and ran the length of her arm. The man casually found that cutting the appendage away was like trying to cut steak with a blunt knife. Amelia found she couldn't take the pain any longer and felt her consciousness slip away again.

Blackwood admired his handiwork and if the blood loss didn't kill her the infection the wound would surely be inflicted with would finish her off. Partridge had just entered and stared down at his daughter blankly.

"Holmes will be here soon." Blackwood said to Partridge who looked down at his daughter questioning, "I thought I'd have some fun. We'll leave her here to find." He strolled off leaving Partridge alone. Amelia's father crouched down and checked her pulse. It was slow and its presence was dwindling. Partridge glanced at her injured hand and stood up quickly and left toward the high street.

Partridge returned but he wasn't alone, accompanying him was a man about three inches taller than Partridge and carrying a medical bag. Both bent down.

"How did this happen?" Partridge didn't answer but looked at the doctor for him to continue after close examination the doctor looked at Partridge, "Your daughter is in desperate need of the hospital, Mr Connolly."

"Can't you attend to her here?"

"It would be better for your daughter to be admitted to the hospital. She is in deep shock and without proper medical care she may not live through the night." Partridge a revolver from his belt and pointed it carefully in the man's face.

"When I want your opinion I shall ask for it." He said slowly, dangerously, "You will tend to her here." The doctor nodded fearfully and started stitching Amelia's wound. He dressed the wound and stood, "Oh I'm afraid you don't get it, you see I can't let you go now. You will tell your chinas and I can't have that." The doctor pleaded for his life, tears forming in his eyes but Partridge laughed, silencing the doctor, and let his finger pull the trigger.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note**

_I've finally managed to see the new film and I would definitely recommend it. It was worth the wait. Despite the mention there is no real animosity between the Army and the Navy, from what I've heard it is similar to the rivalry between Oxford and Cambridge Universities from relatives who have served in both._

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

"You've forgotten your revolver. Again." Holmes smirked and took the weapon from Watson and he wasn't surprised when his friend followed him toward the Thames. For a moment the doctor believed they were walking to the factories until it was they stopped at a docking point that the thought was wiped cleanly from his mind. Watson looked at the ragged bearded man who smelt strongly of alcohol and was supposedly the boat's captain and hoped there was no animosity between them as it was obvious he had once served within the Navy.

* * *

The steam boat bobbed along the choppy waters as raucous laughter filled the night and the November wind rippled through their hair.

"Is this really necessary?" Watson asked his face and clothes covered in soot.

"No one knows London's water ways like him. Why Tanner's practically a fish himself."

"He certainly drinks like one." Watson said sullenly. The boat's captain looked up at him cockily.

"Well it's nice to see you've found a sense of humour doctor. If only the sense." He took over from Watson's duty, claiming it was rather difficult to manoeuvre around these parts. Watson turned to Holmes whose laughter had died away instantly.

"We'll find her." Watson promised,

"How comforting are the words of a idealist." Holmes retorted, sarcasm dripping from every syllable and the doctor decided against arguing with him on this particular subject.

* * *

The little steam boat arrived at the dock and Holmes and Watson disembarked. They entered the factory inconspicuously.

"All that is missing is the ginger midget." Holmes said, "They cleared something away not long ago and…" He pointed to a blood stain on the concrete. Watson's eyes narrowed before meeting Holmes' gaze. They both turned their attention towards the wooden doors. Written on it were roman numerals; IXVIII.

"1:18?"

"Chapter and verse. Revelations; "I am he that liveth and was dead"."

"And behold I am alive forever more." An ominous voice finished.

* * *

Amelia heard familiar voices. Holmes and Watson. As well as Irene Adler. She imagined she was dreaming. She was glad she could no longer hear the voices belonging to her father or Blackwood. She tested moving her legs but they were stiff from lack of use. The voices were getting louder. They were either getting closer or in some kind of trouble. Amelia found she didn't really care either way because they had decided to look for trouble and they'd found it. She settled for humming idly until her tormentors returned.

* * *

"Thank-you." Irene said to Watson. The three adults were distracted by the sound of humming. It wasn't mechanical. It was human and childlike. Both Holmes and Watson sped toward the source of the sound. As they drew closer Holmes recognised the tune to be "Greensleeves". The sound drifted away and stopped completely as Holmes recognised the small figure on the concrete. Amelia. He heard the sound of Watson's sharp intake of breath and dropped to his knees beside her. He pressed his fingers to her neck searching for a pulse, feeling Holmes' gaze on him he nodded sharply and Holmes joined Watson on the floor. He swept his niece's hair out of her face but wished he hadn't. Her eyes were a spectacular mixture of the colours black and purple, dried blood clung to her face and her nose looked badly broken. Watson reached for Amelia's left hand which to Holmes' interest was dressed perfectly. Watson undressed her smallest finger very gently. Irene gasped and Watson growled angrily; there was only half her finger there. However angry Holmes was he did not show it and he was far too interested in how Amelia's wound was stitched and dressed perfectly anyway. A small whimper brought everyone back to situation at present. Watson noticed a weak tugging; Amelia wanted her hand back.

"Amy?" Watson asked gently, "Can you hear me?" Amelia didn't make any inclination that she heard; instead she flinched away from him and started whimpering.

"Amy?" Holmes asked quietly.

"Holmes?" Her voice was small, dry and wispy. There was almost abandoned hope in her voice. He forced a chuckle and assured her he was there. He held her still whilst Watson's examination continued. She had become gaunt and had started to sniffle, but she seemed more comfortable. If only a tad.

"Is she going to be alright?" Irene asked. Broken nose, bruised ribs, sprained wrist, half a missing finger and multiple cuts, bruises and a few burns.

"Physically? I should think so. She needs the hospital." Watson said simply. And psychologically? That was subjective, "Amy, we need to get out of here. I'm just going to sit you up." Holmes saw her stiffen and remaining colour drained from her battered face. Watson did not let go of her straight away, fearing she may faint.

"I feel sick." She murmured, opening her eyes for the first time. They were extremely bloodshot.

"We'll get you outside and it'll pass." Watson assured her before passing to Holmes. Irene gently picked Amelia up so Holmes could run ahead and help Watson. Amelia thought she was having a very peculiar dream. She didn't however think dreams could feel so real or painful, "HOLMES!" Amelia forced her eyes open and saw the violent flurry of orange and black as the warehouse exploded around them. Amelia landed on her side and hit her head, a dull ringing in her ears. She fought to stay awake as this dream was so much better than reality at present.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note**

_Thank-you to everyone who has reviewed. Without you this story would be long forgotton. There was some dispute of what country Standish was ambassador to as his accent seems to implicate that he was the American ambassador to the UK. I refer to him as the ambassador of America._

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Sir! Lord Coward has issued a warrant for your arrest." Holmes made to run toward Watson but was stopped by Clarky, "Watson's alive, just get out of here." Holmes ran. He needed to find Amelia and Irene. He found Irene picking herself up; Holmes offered his hand to her and pulled her to her feet and whilst running caught sight of Amelia curled into fetal position, her eyes wide and debris caught in her hair. He picked her up as carefully as he could in his haste. Amelia jumped and became stiff as she always did when in physical contact with someone. Once they had sped out of the clasps of the police Holmes turned to Irene.

"Get her to a hospital and then you both need to get out of here post haste." Irene took Amelia in her arms. He half expected his niece to object but it seemed she was unaware of her surroundings and the dull ringing in her ears masked his words with relative ease.

* * *

Amelia awoke to voices she did not recognise and was in a lumpy bed she found uncomfortable. One of the voices was male and the other was female, and American. Miss Adler. They were talking about how she had been injured. Miss Adler was pretending to be her mother which she resented. Her eyes snapped open and looked around. The hospital. Her eyes fell onto Irene questioning, but she continued to stare at Amelia, clearly telling her to leave her questions for later.

"Miss Adler?" The doctor asked, Amelia looked at the doctor, "Do you remember what happened to you?" Irene stiffened slightly,

"No, sorry." She said shaking her head, mimicking Irene's accent flawlessly. The man continued to look at her.

"Could you confirm your birthday?" Amelia cocked her head. She doubted that Irene knew her actual birth date and Amelia was unaware of Irene's so she was certain she'd have settled for a date they both knew.

"6th January 1881." She answered. The doctor nodded in approval, not noticing the slip in her accent. Irene smiled briefly at her before turning to the doctor.

"Will we be able to leave?" Irene asked slight irritation in her voice. The doctor frowned at her for a moment,

"I suggest you wait until I'm sure your daughter is well enough, Mrs Adler." He left closing the door behind him. Amelia sighed and looked at Irene whilst inhaling the smell of the hospital.

"It's in April." Amelia stated, "Where are Uncle and Watson?" Irene sighed,

"I don't know." She answered truthfully. Amelia frowned, her stomach suddenly filled with butterflies.

"Are they OK?"

"I'm sure you Uncle is fine." Another truthful answer. She was sure? That wasn't good enough. And what about Watson? She put her head in her hands but yelped and looked at her left hand.

"Oh yes. I remember now." She muttered, "Am I going to normal now?" She asked Irene, who simply frowned, "He said I wasn't normal and it needed fix-" Irene looked very angry now and Amelia shrank away from her.

"He said _that?_" She asked quietly. Amelia nodded. Irene caught a look of her fear and her expression softened, "You are perfectly fine as you are." Amelia scoffed,

"No I am not." She sniffed again, "Kings Cross."

"Pardon me?"

"See?" She laughed humorlessly, "We're near Kings Cross." Irene said nothing, "When are we going back?" Sudden realisation dawned upon her.

"We aren't." Amelia glared at Irene.

"So how am I supposed to get back? I ain't going anywhere." She said stubbornly, crossing her arms across her chest. The doctor returned and caught the tension in the room.

"Is everything alright?" He asked.

"Fine, thank-you." Irene said. Amelia sat up and ignored the dizziness that almost engulfed her. The doctor's eyes kept flicking between the two of them, obviously noticing the lack of physical resemblance between them. He seemed to dismiss this however and asked Amelia to look at his finger whilst he checked there was no further damage. He discharged them and left, "I got you some new clothes." Irene said and gave Amelia the clothes. She considered her for a moment and decided to help her since she was clearly unable.

* * *

The cool air stung Amelia's face as they arrived at the smoke filled King's Cross station and Irene was irritated to learn that the train was delayed. The news did not surprise Amelia in the slightest. They boarded first class and Amelia noticed a man sitting alone. His face was hidden behind the paper he was reading, the headline commented on the death of Standish. The ambassador of America.

"The train will depart when I tell it to." The man said, Amelia frowned and leant forward, "And you will leave my employment when I allow you to." Amelia turned her head to look at Irene, who was unable to mask her worry. The man kept his face in shadow. This must be the client she'd mentioned,

"I've found Reordan. He's in Scotland Yard's mortuary. So that's me finished." This didn't seem to satisfy the man.

"Your job was to manipulate Holmes' feelings for you. Not succumb to them." Why was Irene working with a man who hated Holmes? Amelia raised her eyebrows, not with surprise but with interest, "You have fulfilled nothing. I want what Reardon was making for Blackwood. Finish the job, or the next dead body will be Sherlock Holmes."

"I wouldn't have thought a man of teaching would have such ill intentions." Amelia said suddenly, there was cold sarcasm in her voice, "Unless you're similar to Doctor Knox. Which," She snorted, "I doubt." Though the man's face was still kept in shadow he leant slightly forward,

"You possess the same arrogance." The man said, his tone unchanged, "It will be your downfall." But Amelia noticed interest in his voice. The ten-year-old was intrigued by the man's words, even though his intentions were far from good the power and intelligence in his voice drew her in. Irene took Amelia's hand and quickly led them off the locomotive and hurried up along the platform. Despite Irene's pace Amelia was able to keep up without portraying too much discomfort. Irene stopped outside the station causing Amelia looked up quizzically,

"What are we waiting for?" Amelia asked, irritation seeping into her voice. Irene struggled for words and with an impatient sigh she called for a taxi, "Are there schools dedicated to idiocy?" She mumbled climbing into the cab. She hesitated when asked where they wanted to go, "The Punchbowl. The one near Westminster." She replied confidently. The cab rattled over the cobbled streets making Amelia wince and she couldn't have been happier when they reached their destination.

* * *

Watson arrived at the Punchbowl only to see Irene walking very fast up the road with Amelia in tow. He saw the ten-year-old's eyes fall on him and a grin splitting across her face and although she seemed unable to run to him she picked up her pace and wrapped her arms around his waist. Watson picked her up and she smiled at him. She still looked terribly gaunt but she seemed happier already. Or at least able to hide her hurt very well. They went inside and before any of them could ask a grubby man with his feet propped upon table looked at them,

"Upstairs. First room." It didn't surprise Amelia that he knew who they were looking for. Well who Watson was looking for. Amelia disapproved of Holmes' escapades to the Punchbowl, she didn't understand how it was supposed to relieve stress, and instead it only caused more. For Watson mainly. They found Holmes lying on the floor completely unconscious and placing Amelia on the floor Watson hurried over to the detective. His incoherent mumbling worried Irene but Amelia was intrigued by the pentagram. She walked around it whilst trying to discern it. Lion, ox, a man and an eagle. Each was connected to a certain area of London. She saw that the lion was next to parliament. The man was next to the graveyard where Reordan was found. She was startled when she saw Watson sitting in a chair in the pentagram's centre. She blinked a few times as waves of dizziness washed over her,

"I'm fine." She answered Watson's practiced gaze. She wondered over to the window and stared downward onto the cobbled streets below.

Holmes jolted awake some ten minutes later,

"Good morning." Irene said. Holmes looked over her shoulder and saw Watson sitting near the pentagram he had drawn and turning his head to the right he saw Amelia staring blankly out of the window. Although he could tell she was looking at him through the corner of her eye. He sat up

"Familiar artwork." Watson said, standing, "You look gorgeous." There was a small snigger from the window. Watson stared at Amelia who had turned toward them. With bruises across her face and a broken nose she looked very much like Holmes did when he returned from a rather violent case.

"You made the front page." Irene said holding the newspaper for them to see.

_Sherlock Holmes Wanted_

"Only a name and no picture." Holmes said.

"So, it looks like you two will be needing to work outside the law now and that's my area of expertise." Irene stated happily, throwing the paper onto a chair.

"I feel safer already." Amelia said, wondering over to the bed and sat next to Holmes. She paused for a moment before leaning next to Holmes and wrapping her arms around him. It was a surprise to Holmes that she was readily accepting physical contact. Which was probably a sign of how much she may be hurting.

"You seem to making a rapid recovery." It was unclear to both Watson and Amelia whom he was talking to.

"Yes. Took the shrapnel out myself. Mary said I had a lousy doctor." Amelia smiled into Holmes' side. Both men sat in silence until Holmes cleared his throat,

"Well, I am…I'm just so…very glad…that you're with us."

"I'm alive too, if anyone else cares." Amelia's mumble came from Holmes' side. Holmes chuckled and pulled her onto his lap, he didn't like how she used the word "alive", "Do you have any pain relief?" Watson glanced at Irene,

"You've already had some." Amelia whined and settled her gaze upon Holmes.

"No." Watson said loudly and went to sit in the chair next to Irene. Holmes looked down at his niece, she didn't look any better than when they'd found her and her hand although heavily bandaged must've been causing her immense pain. After realising her attempts were futile she huffed and went to sit next to Watson.

"Right," Said Holmes clapping his hands together, "Now that you're all sitting comfortably I shall begin." He gestured down to the star, "My initial approach was far too narrow. When Blackwood invited me to Pentonville prison he suggested I widen my gaze. And at minimum, I have done just that. In fact, I may well have reconciled thousands of years of theological disparity. But that's for another time." Amelia smiled; she'd like to hear about that later, "Blackwood's method is based on a ritualistic mystical system that's been employed by the Temple of the Four Orders for centuries. To fully understand the system, I re-enacted the ceremony we interrupted at the crypt, with a few," He paused searching for the suitable word, "enhancements of my own."

"By not sacrificing anyone then." Amelia said.

"My journey took me somewhat further down the rabbit hole than I intended and though I dirtied my fluffy white tail I have emerged, enlightened. The fraternity who decidedly control the empire who share the belief with the Kings, Pharaohs, and Emperors of old that the Sphinx was a door to another dimension. A gateway to immeasurable power. It's made up of four parts. The foot of a lion, the tail of an ox, the wings of an eagle and the head of a man." Amelia frowned at the diagram, "In Sir Thomas's secret chamber, I found a bone of an ox the tooth of a lion, the feather of an eagle and a hair of a man."

"So you were poncing around in a secret cupboard whilst I was dying." Amelia said conversationally although there was accusation in her voice. Watson laid a hand on her shoulder and Amelia waved her injured hand for Holmes to continue,

"Map." He commanded and Watson and Irene took the map and laid it across the floor, "The points of the star represent the five murdered girls but it is the cross that is of importance now. Since he rose from the grave, Blackwood has killed three men, each murder committed at a location that has a direct connection to the temple, therefore the system. Reardon, the ginger midget, represents man. We found his body here," He pointed Watson's cane to a point of the cross, Amelia smiled she had already started to work this out, "Sir Tomas, master of the temple, wore the ox ring. He died here." He gestured another point of the cross. "Standish, ambassador of America, where the eagle has been the national emblem for over one hundred years. The headquarters of the Temple of the Four Orders where he died is here." Holmes crossed his arms staring at the map, "Correspondently, the map will tell us the location of the final act." Amelia stood took the cane from Holmes and pointed to another point of the map.

"Parliament." Watson said horror flooding his expression. Amelia looked at Holmes for a moment and pointed to the centre of the map. Holmes said nothing as the sound of a scuffle punctuated the silence.

"Right this way." Holmes instructed leading them to a trap door, "Ladies first." Irene went first and Watson picked Amelia up causing her to wince, "Follow these instructions." He ordered Watson and pushed his head down and slammed the trapdoor, sending dust cascading down upon them. Watson opened the slip of yellow paper and sighed,

"For God's sake."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

Watson, Irene and Amelia made their way through the darkened underground passage, dust motes flew as their shoes met the concrete. It wasn't until they met open air that Watson realised Amelia's head rest on his shoulder and she had relaxed into sleep. He bounced her in attempt to rouse the sleeping child, he doubted her injuries would profit if she was unconscious.

"Come on Amy, wake up." She groaned sleepily,

"Sleeping." Her words slurred and she didn't bother opening her eyes. Unlike Holmes Amelia was nigh impossible to wake. Watson kept bouncing her, "If you keep doing that I'll end up being sick. On you."

"Well wake up then." Amelia opened her eyes but kept her head resting on Watson's shoulder. They made it to the Thames and Watson sighed when Tanner smiled at him cockily. Whilst on their sailing toward Parliament Watson and Tanner argued and Irene told them to stop flirting. Amelia sat behind Irene and curled up into a ball trying to sleep. She glared at Irene when she gave away her position to Watson, who pulled her into a standing position next to him,

"That window." Amelia said, pointing. Both Watson and Tanner dismissed her input and she crossed her arms sulkily. It wasn't until Holmes leapt from the window and into the frigid water that Amelia suddenly bolted to the other side of the boat and emptied the contents of her stomach. She turned toward the others and wiped her mouth with her sleeve,

"See I told you he'd come from that window, war boys." She grinned and hiccupped, "That was your fault." She told Watson, who rolled his eyes,

"Anyway!" Holmes interrupted, "You'll be pleased to know that Lestrade performed his role perfectly, in fact he rather enjoyed it." Holmes noticed Amelia was shivering,

"Did you get all you needed from Coward?" Watson asked,

"Yes, I smoked him out with relative ease." Both Watson and Amelia smiled weakly, Holmes then shouted for the captain to take them to the sewers. Amelia stood and watched the streets of London disappear slowly from her view. Holmes joined her moments later,

"You will stop him won't you?" Although phrased as an indifferent question Holmes heard desperation in her voice,

"I've never failed on a case yet." He answered and Amelia slid her gaze toward Irene and grinned cockily at him. The little steam boat stopped at the entrance to the sewers. However the entrance was barred by iron gates,

"Any day now," Amelia said impatiently, "I'm sure Blackwood will wait." The sewers were dank, cold and poorly lit. Amelia held onto Holmes' sleeve as they carried on through the tunnels. They came across a large machine,

"Behold," Holmes said, "Blackwood's magic revealed."

"What is it?" Amelia asked

"What does it do?" Irene queried, simultaneously

"It is a chemical weapon." Holmes explained, Amelia cocked her head,

"And you deduced this how?"

"From my pocket." Amelia stared taken aback. He held out a pink object that Amelia knew to be a tail of a rather unfortunate rodent, "I slipped this off a rather recumbent rat at the slaughterhouse. Note the blue discoloration, the faint smell of bitter almonds. The tell-tale traces of cyanide." Watson suddenly made a hushing sound, holding his revolver to his lips. Amelia stared at the guard some ten foot away from their hiding place. She found she felt very vulnerable without any kind of weapon. Holmes looked down at her and sensed her unease, he held his hand out to Irene who passed him a second revolver and handed it to the ten-year-old. He looked at her seriously and whispered, "Only if you need to." She nodded; suddenly the sound of gunfire pierced the silent air,

"She loves an entrance, your muse." Amelia stood back the revolver held in her hand. One of the guards advanced toward her his revolver pointed straight at her. She shakily raised her own but she was saved by Irene Adler a moment later, who shot him through the head,

"WOMAN!" Holmes shouted and Amelia settled her gaze on him, "Shoot him, now please." Irene turned her revolver empty. Amelia raised her own and fired. Once, the man stumbled; a bullet collided with his jaw. Twice, the man fell; the bullet lodged into his head. Holmes returned and patted her on the head.

"It was kill or let Uncle be killed." She told herself sternly, taking deep breaths to reassure herself.

"I've never seen anything like it." Irene said in irritated amazement, "Look at this." She held a coin and the machine repelled it throwing it into a pipe. Amelia stared,

"It's designed to stop anyone disarming it." She said with a look at Holmes who nodded, leaning closer to Irene.

"This appears to be designed be designed to receive a signal of some kind." Amelia whistled at the complexity of the device, "When triggered, the electrodes will send a charge converting the chemical into gas. The gas will travel up that shaft and filter through the ventilation system that leads directly to Parliament. Within seconds, the most powerful men in the world will be choking on death."

"So Blackwood must have a button to press remotely." Amelia said slowly,

"We don't have to disarm the device; we just have to remove the cylinders."

"Yes. Except that they're welded in."

"Well blow it up then." Amelia said enthusiastically. All of a sudden Watson flew from the position he was once standing only to be replaced with a familiar heavily built man armed with an axe. Irene pulled Amelia's revolver from her grasp and shot at the man until it clicked. Empty. She hadn't managed to hit him,

"Tu m'as manqué?" He quipped. Amelia hid behind Holmes who sighed lowering Irene's revolver.

"I'd rather wish you hadn't done that, Irene." Distantly Amelia heard the chimes of Big Ben.

_Approximately twelve seconds until the clock starts to toll the hour. About two seconds between each toll. Realistically thirty six seconds to remove cylinders. _

Holmes handed Amelia his pipe and, delighted to be able create an explosion, set to work with Irene whilst Holmes and Watson tried to subdue Dredger.

"NUT HIM!" She heard Watson shout at Holmes and took all of Amelia's self-restraint to continue at the task at hand. The sounds of the men fighting and the tolls of Big Ben were distracting. Irene lit the match and lit the explosive they had created. Amelia turned and looked at the men grappling on the floor. Smirking Amelia turned to see Irene removing the cylinders and making a run for it,

"_I want what Reardon was making for Blackwood" _Amelia growled and bolted after Irene and heard Holmes shouting after her. The ten-year-old managed to catch up with Irene and held on to the cylinders for dear life whilst Irene tried to run out of Holmes' clasps. Amelia paid no attention to where she was going and it came as quite a shock to see herself on top the bridge in progress. Amelia let go of the cylinders as Irene tried to run across the incomplete bridge.

"Where are you going? It's not finished yet!" Irene stopped and looked around, "Did you plan on giving those cylinders to that Professor? He's got it in for my Uncle and you're working with him!"

"Did you take a wrong turning somewhere?" Holmes voice drifted casually from behind her,

"We're safe now." Amelia laughed a short scornful one.

"What an interesting summary, Miss Adler!" She listened to their discussion with apprehension. Irene couldn't be trusted. She didn't want to run anymore? Liar. Against her will Amelia stared downward and her legs felt unstable just as a figure appeared and pulled Amelia away from her Uncle. Blackwood pushed Amelia up to the edge of the bridge until she was in serious danger of tumbling into the water. Again Amelia looked downward and scrunched up her eyes looking away.

"The cylinders, Miss Adler." Amelia's breaths were ragged and she looked at Holmes, silently pleading for help. Irene handed the cylinders cautiously to Blackwood who inspected them, admiring it in the sunlight. He chuckled darkly as his cold eyes swept across Amelia. For the briefest of moments dark green met autumnal brown as Blackwood jabbed the cane into her chest and she fell backwards,

"No!" Came a yell as Amelia somersaulted through the void between bridge and water the bitter, harsh wind whipping through her knotted hair and whistling in her ears. Her scream was short-lived as she hit the icy water. It felt as though a hundred knives hit her at once. For someone so small swimming offered no assistance. Her ribs screamed in protest as she was finally immersed into the filth ridden water.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note**

_I'm sorry this should have been posted sooner. I've been ill and other stuff has got in the way. Anyway the last chapter should be up very soon._

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

Sherlock Holmes was usually seen as a cold figure, who was incapable of simple human emotions. There were few whom he actually cared for although he would rarely show it. It was when one of these few were faced with fatal danger that there was a side that shouldn't be reckoned with. The body of Lord Henry Blackwood hung from the incomplete bridge that Irene Adler knew Holmes, although not intentionally, had been responsible. She sat next to him as he was almost entirely silent. She glanced downward; if that ripple was brought backward it would show where Amelia fell.

"Moriarty." Irene said suddenly

"Excuse me?"

"That's his name.

you were both right; he is a professor." Both? Had Amelia met Irene's mysterious client also? "Everyone has a weak spot. And he found mine." She said, her gaze still fixed on the river.

"Where was it precisely?" Holmes asked slyly. Irene stared at him as a mother would at her immature son. Holmes smiled and gazed toward the skyline,

"Do not underestimate him. He's just as brilliant as you are, but infinitely more devious."

"We'll see about that." He gave Irene the key to her handcuffs and hurried off. Thundering down the steps at great speed. He reached the open air and stared hard at the Thames. He knew Amelia could swim but it probably wouldn't have aided her much, given the extent of her injuries. There were many boats that could've picked his niece up and Holmes was certain that she would have told them where she lived.

* * *

Watson stared at Holmes as he saw him racing him up the road. With a quick scrutinizing gaze at his roommate Holmes stopped at the dock where he saw Tanner again. After a few minutes Holmes returned to Watson and the doctor took in his friend's appearance. He was slightly out of breath and his hair was tousled. Although the absence of Amelia bothered Watson immensely.

"Oh God. Holmes, no." Watson's voice became strained as his eyes took in the bridge. His friend didn't answer but instead kept his stare outward toward the river as the darkened sky was alight with lighting and thunder rumbled across the city. The detective stumbled and Watson knew he was losing spectacularly to the battle against exhaustion. He always lost. Just as the doctor was about to steer his friend to the carriage Lestrade had vacated Holmes vanished, sprinting up the road. The inspector's eyes fell onto Blackwood still suspended from the bridge,

"Where's he off to? There can't still be a case…"

"There isn't. Case closed." Watson's bluntness startled Lestrade but left Watson without comment.

* * *

Holmes returned to Baker Street later that evening and eyed Watson and Mrs Hudson with displeasure before collapsing without even reaching the stairs. His fall was broken by Watson, who appeared to predict what was going to happen, and managed to get him to the spare room on the ground floor, much to Holmes' semiconscious irritation. The doctor lifted Holmes onto the bed and made sure he didn't escape. Much of the detective's drowsy rambles consisted of Amelia and his many attempts to get up again were thwarted by Watson. It took a good quarter of an hour for Holmes to actually drift off into sleep and the doctor surveyed his friend with sympathy. Leaving him to his much needed sleep Watson drifted into the cold kitchen where Mrs Hudson was standing, watching him anxiously. There was a coldness that swept over the house that Watson knew didn't affect him personally. It was like a darkened cloud blocked the sun that was unrelenting in letting any kind of warmth to enter the house. Mrs Hudson sniffed, a tear sliding down her face. Much like Holmes Amelia possessed a strange likeable quality to which Mrs Hudson was victim to. Despite the child's eccentric and destructive tendencies the landlady saw her as a granddaughter she would never have.

* * *

The next few days were slow and torturous. Holmes was up at noon the following day and was out into the crisp air that London was so fond of offering and would not return until late in the evening, his clothes drenched from the cruel downpour a few hours previously. Watson was due to leave the next day and instead of removing the last of his things from the property, as people usually do, he was replacing many things into his office. Holmes studied his friend curiously,

"Is the engagement off?" Watson chuckled,

"No I'm still moving, Holmes."

"I am to believe that people remove their belongings from their _previous _home and place it within their new one." The word "previous" was uttered not with sadness although Watson was unable to discern what emotion he was portraying. Instead Watson smiled at Holmes and placed a half filled box onto his desk.

"Did you know Mary scoffed at the idea of giving up my practice here? She told me I'd worry myself to death agonizing over your well-being." Watson gave a long sigh and proceeded to stare out of the window, "I'm afraid I cannot deny her words even if I wanted to. So I'm afraid it would seem you're stuck with me, old boy." Holmes, although unwilling to show it, was stunned. Mary had _said _that? Watson clapped Holmes on the shoulder and went downstairs with intent of speaking to Mrs Hudson. It was perfectly true, as Watson descended down the stairs, that Mary had scoffed at his idea to move his practice but Watson believed Holmes needed him in this darkened hour. The doctor had not been so callous to mention his friend's niece although he had asked whether he was any closer to finding her. No answer graced Watson's ears and smiling he left to find Mary. Holmes sighed, Watson was due to marry Mary and he was left with no one. If his niece was still here he would have been two shillings poorer and she would've been hyperactive from too much candyfloss. The Thames was regularly searched for victims of suicide or homicide and no child was found amongst those who were. He glanced around the room; a lot of the mess was Holmes' but Amelia had left her imprint upon the room. The rug had been a frequent casualty to many of Amelia's experiments. The darkened stain from where she had spilt tea and wanted to test whether formaldehyde would remove the stain. The blood from where her tooth had fallen out and where she'd set it on fire. Accidently of course. He remembered how she smiled when her front two teeth had fallen out. He would never admit how adorable she looked. He reminisced about the day he had tried to send her to a boarding school,

"_I don't want to go." Amelia said stubbornly. The ten-year-old hated school with a strong passion; it seemed like a dreadful nightmare to have to live there in addition. Seeing no sign of relent in Holmes Amelia burst into tears,_

"_Come on Amy." Said Watson kindly, putting a comforting arm around her, "It'll be Christmas before you know it." _

"_P-please," Amelia said through her sobs, "I p-promise I'll be good."_

"_It has nothing to do with your behavior." Holmes responded plainly. Amelia held onto Watson burying her face into his side, he rubbed her back as she started to hiccup. _

"_Is it because I'm not smart enough?" Amelia's voice issued from Watson's side and she looked up into Holmes' eyes but before he could answer, "Watson you said to me you weren't gambling anymore. You spent last night with Stamford and drank whiskey. A young lady made advances to you but you politely refused." Watson stared at Holmes dumfounded, "Uncle are you still stuck on that case? The maid, Flora Smith, had been recently employed by the Daubeney family yet she told you she had been working there for two years, she provided "essential" information and practically admitted to the murders of the Daubeneys. However about three months ago I recall Miss Smith being in "King Lear" as Goneril." Holmes stopped suddenly, of everything he suspected his niece to say it wasn't that. He thought through what she said. It did piece together but how did she know about Miss Smith's appearance in "King Lear"? Amelia shuddered again, she reminded him of his sister when she was to leave for boarding school. She had resented her parents' decision until her death. He gazed down at his niece just as there was a knock at the door._

"_The cab is here." Mrs Hudson said_

"_I didn't order one." _

It had been then when Holmes was given a glimpse of Amelia's intellectual capacity. His sister had been right she was manipulative but she'd shown such promise that Holmes decided against sending her somewhere where she would be genuinely unhappy. Despite her logical deductions Amelia had still been hindered by the fact she was still a child and although didn't believe in such things as Father Christmas any longer she was unable to understand more complicated, adult motives. Watson had despaired when Amelia revealed she didn't believe in Father Christmas,

"_The possibility of Father Christmas getting around the world in one night is impossible."_

"_But he is magical, Amy."_

"_Then why did I not get anything last year?" _That silenced Watson; Amelia always enjoyed getting the last word in arguments or anything for that matter. This would make things very awkward when Holmes and Watson were called by Scotland Yard to aid them. Amelia would hate being left with Mrs Hudson and then proceed to trying her hardest to solve the case faster than Holmes. Which she had managed twice, which although wasn't much was an amazing feat considering her opposition. Watching sleet swirl delicately past the window Holmes knew for certain his niece was alive. No body, no death. He dearly hoped his long deceased emotions weren't in the process of reawakening and impeding his judgement.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

Watson stood alongside his wife-to-be watching his belongings being loaded into the carriage. Mary was desperately trying to keep his mind on other matters. She had never met Amelia but had heard about her from Watson. She had hoped she would meet her today but it was not to be. As Watson and Mary walked up the steps the doctor caught sight of Wiggins. His face was absolutely blank like Holmes but Watson knew Amelia's best friend was deeply upset. He'd even seen her other best friend, Harriet, play silently with a blonde haired girl. Her face pale. He remembered countless times of Amelia with her two friends, especially when they had sailed the Thames pretending to be pirates. He remembered the amount of trouble she had got into but somehow managed to keep Wiggins and the other irregulars out of it. She was probably one of the few who could fool Holmes. Entering the room they both saw the eerie sight of Holmes hanging from the ceiling. Mary gasped,

"Not to worry my dear." He told Mary, "Suicide is not in his repertoire, he's far too fond of himself." Lifting his cane to poke Holmes in the back he noticed the book on the floor that belonged to Amelia, "Holmes!"

"Oh, good afternoon." Holmes said casually, "I was trying to deduce the matter, in which Blackwood survived his execution, but it had a surprisingly soporific effect, and I was carried off in the arms of Morpheus, like a caterpillar in a cocoon." He rotating to face Watson and Mary,

"Get on with it Holmes." He said, strands of frustration slipping slyly into his tone. Watson noticed a piece of paper with writing on it; the handwriting was messy and slightly smudged. The writer was left-handed. The only left-hander in the house had been Amelia. On it was drawn a stickman with a noose around his neck and written underneath was:

_Hanging causes death by breaking/dislocating the neck. To beat it weight must be placed around the waist. _

"I suppose this is where you got your information from, Holmes." He said flaunting the paper. Holmes paused but decided to ignore him,

"Cleverly consumed in the hangman's knot was a hook…" He paused again,

"John, shouldn't we help him down?" Mary asked,

"No, no. I hate to cut him off midstream. Carry on!" Watson said, smirking

"Well, the executioner attached the hook to a harness, thus allowing the weight to be distributed around the waist and the neck to remain intact." Holmes sighed and placed a hand to his face. "Oh my Lord I can't feel my cheeks. Might we continue this at ground level?"

"How did you manage it, Holmes?" Watson pressed without missing a beat. Holmes sighed again and unbuttoned his waistcoat. Revealed were and odd assortment of belts and braces that covered his chest.

"I managed it with braces, belts and a coat hook. Oh please Watson, my tongue is going. I'll be of no use to you at all."

"Worse things could happen." Watson muttered

"John." Mary said, half stern half amused. Watson sighed in defeat and found a chair to stand on whilst he cut it loose.

"None of this explains Blackwood's lack of pulse." He said slicing the rope,

"Now, the medical mystery. We must restore your reputation, Watson. There is a toxin refined from the nectar of the _rhododendron ponticum._ It's quite infamous in the region of Turkey bordering the Black Sea for its ability to produce an apparently mortal paralysis. Enough to mislead a medical mind even as tenacious and well trained as your own." He smirked, throwing the belts toward the settee, "It's known locally as-"

"What's wrong with Gladstone?" Mary queried, cutting Holmes off. Watson stared at his poor dog, who was now lying apparently dead on the rug.

"Mad honey disease." He finished, "He is just demonstrating the very effects I've described."

"Mary, I shan't worry, he's seen far worse." Watson said, rolling his eyes.

"Mr Holmes!" A voice called from the hall, it was Clarkie, "Doctor, Miss Mary." He greeted. By the urgency in his voice Watson doubted if Amelia had been found, "Sir, Inspector Lestrade requests that you come with me right away."

"What is it this time, Clarkie?" Holmes asked, lighting his pipe. Watson thought he heard the slightest tremor of hope in Holmes' tone.

"It's one of our sergeants, sir. He went missing in the sewers the day you stopped Lord Blackwood. I'm afraid sewage workers found his body just this morning, sir. We believe the sergeant was our first man on the scene. Gunshot wound to the head." He explained. Holmes stared out of the window, pipe held in his grasp,

"Was it a small calibre bullet?" He asked, without looking at Clarkie,

"Yes." He confirmed

"Powder burns on his eyebrows?" Holmes questioned

"Indeed, sir." Watson leant forward in his chair, interest almost overwhelming him,

"Moriarty." Holmes said quietly, "_Professor _Moriarty. Where is Blackwood's device now?" Watson heard the hatred in his voice whenever Blackwood was mentioned,

"Intelligence have it now, sir."

"I'd wager there's a piece missing."

"So this Professor took the device was not after the poison." Watson voiced,

"There is nothing more elusive than an obvious fact." Holmes said, smiling slightly,

"And Adler was just a diversion?" Watson asked,

"He knew I'd chase after her, leaving the machine accessible." He said running a hand through his tousled hair. Just then the man who was loading Watson's belongings entered,

"I've loaded the last of your boxes, sir." Watson looked up at Holmes who turned.

"I'll see you tomorrow then." Watson said slowly, Holmes nodded as Gladstone bolted in the direction of the door, pursued by both Mary and Watson,

"Clarkie…" Holmes said pulling on his hat, "Case reopened."

* * *

**Final Author's Note**

_Do you really think I'd leave it there? I am in the process of writing a sequel which should be around sometime in between June and late August. I am finishing off another Sherlock Holmes story which should be up in March or April. Check back on my profile and I'll keep you posted on their progress._

_Thank-you so much for everyone's kind reviews they have all meant so much to me and have kept me going throughout. I wish I was kinder and gave you all better chapters instead of watching films and getting ill._

_Millypink: Your wonderful reviews kept me smiling and I loved your suggestions. I used one of them. Try and spot it. YOU ROCK!_

_Irene Holmes: I can't tell you how elated I was when I saw my inbox that you had bombarded with your fantastic reviews. YOU ROCK ALSO!_

_EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED ROCKS! If you would all think of a gold star, that's from me._

_Thank-you to everyone who subscribed and put this on your favourites. You people are awesome._

_For some reason in chapter eighteen my laptop decided to be a ponce and formatted it stupidly. Sorry about that. I have no idea why I used Amelia's full name in the narrative whilst referring to her as Amy when she was being talked to. That's about it really._

_See you in the summer._

_Adieu _


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